


Where the World Ends.

by jennajuicebox



Series: Bones [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Depression, Drug Use, Drunken sex, Explicit Language, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Overdose, Public Sex, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 106,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennajuicebox/pseuds/jennajuicebox
Summary: It's at that exact moment I decide that music, like love, is a waste of time.It won’t bring them back.And it won’t save me.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I need to thank my amazing beta, Green Wool. she's amazing. So go check out her stories, because they're beautiful and put mine to absolute shame. any mistakes belong to me. Secondly, music is a big part of this fic and all music credits will be posted at the bottom of the chapter. I hope you enjoy this little fic of mine!

[](https://ibb.co/g2MK5R)

 

_For Candy, Wherever she may be._

 

**_“I did not die, and yet I lost life’s breath”_ **

_―_ **_D_** ** _ante Alighieri_ ** _,_ **_The Divine Comedy_ **

 

 

 

_Chapter 1_

_It’s raining, the water, a torrent that sheets off the roof of the tiny church. I stand in the trampled grass of the graveyard, water dripping from my black lace dress, my hair, my nose. It trickles down my spine, making me shiver. I wiggle my toes in my borrowed heels and turn my face up to the sky, willing the water to wash me away, pull the flesh from my bone, pound the life from my body._

_Prim is Gone._

_Each breath that I expel is a reminder._

_Prim is Gone, and I am still here._

_My mother is screaming her grief to the sky, my Uncle holding her in his arms as Father O'Donoghue drones on about what a tragedy it is to lose someone so young, so sweet, so good. I could walk straight up to the balsa wood podium he’s perched himself behind and slap him squarely across the face._

_Because I just want him to say what everyone is thinking._

_It should have been me._

_I feel my chin quiver and I swallow my tears down. I focus on trying to make myself as small as possible. Shrinking down inside of my coat and taking tiny steps backward until the crowd has swallowed me whole. It’s better than the ocean of grief that crashes against me like waves against rocks._

_Small is safe._

_The rain makes the earth pungent and I focus on the heady smell instead of the monotone voice ringing in the quiet. I mean what could a stranger tell me about my sweet little sister that I didn’t already know? I hate the good father. I hate my mother’s screams, I hate my lace dress. I look up at the sky, heavy with gun barrel clouds and I decide that I hate that too._

_I hate God. Scream your agony to the heavens, tear at your clothes, sob your prayers and what will you get in return? Silence. Indifference._

_Ashes to ashes._

_Dust to dust._

_People are starting to disperse, diving for any spare room under umbrellas. They lower the tiny, blue casket down into the dark dirt. I stay where I am standing as my uncle inches my mother’s half limp body towards me, her hand clawing at his sleeve._

_“Katniss,” he says, he smells like licorice and whiskey. I bite my tongue and take a backward step, away from the smell, away from my mother's sobbing frame. I fix him with a look and open my mouth to speak, my tongue is trapped, heavy as lead. “Can you take her?” He shifts my mother from one arm to another._

_I’m trying to form an answer, a word, anything, that’s why I don’t notice my mother reaching for me until she has my face firmly between her two cold hands._

_“Where were you?” She demands, my eyes widen. Her mouth trembles beneath the weight of the words and her legs give. My uncle doesn’t catch her, just lets her fall into the wet grass, mud staining her nylons._

_“Where were you!” She screams, her hand juts out and her fingers claw at my chin._

_I open my mouth and snap it shut again._

_I don’t know what to tell her._

_Where was I?_

_“Lily.” My uncle says in a low, chastising voice. It’s useless, she can say what she’d like. grieving is an unpunishable offense._

_“Where were you?” My mother moans, dragging her nails across her face, leaving angry red welts down her colorless cheeks. “My girl is gone, my baby.”_

_I feel the moisture collecting behind my eyes, hot and suffocating. I feel my fingers balling into fists. My uncle tries to gain my attention, clearing his throat loudly, I ignore it, my eyes won’t leave my mother’s tiny frame, curled in the sodden grass.  I can’t speak, I can’t breathe._

_I need to go._

_I’m running on numb legs, across the wide expanse of grass greened by the dead, down toward a fence. The heel of my shoe snaps and I fall into the mud, scraping my chin on a rock. I pull my shoes from my feet and stagger upward as hot blood drips down my neck, mixing with the rain._

_What a sight I must be, running down the quiet country road, the pine trees a blur around me, blood dripping from my knees and chin. Glass digging into my bare heels. I ignore my screaming lungs until I reach my street and I finally slow to a walk._

_My house stands empty, dark, quiet._

_Was it just four days ago Prim was sitting on the windowsill painting her toes a bright, blood red that I insisted she was much too young for?_

_The oak door is heavy and solid, and I lock it behind me._

_I pass the piano in the living room where my father taught us to love Bach, Beethoven, and Queen. Prim used to dust it every Thursday afternoon,  I can’t stand looking at it._

_I feel something hot, immediate and violent course itself through my chest. Threatening to break from my lungs and consume everything I am._

_I streak up the stairs, down the hall to our, I mean my, room._

_I stop cold in the doorway. Prim’s bed is just as she left it, blankets rumpled, the pillow still has the indent from her head. A bright blue sweatshirt is rumpled on the floor. Her math book on the nightstand under a glass of water._

_I swallow the hard lump in my throat and stalk toward our tiny, shared closet._

_I run my fingers across the row of fabrics for a moment, my eyes sliding shut. I used to be so upset that she would steal my shirts without telling me. I wipe the tears from my eyes and push them aside where a small bookshelf sits with all my second-hand CDs on them._

_I don’t pause as I grab the first armful and smash them on the ground._

_My father bought them for me at first, from thrift stores and bargain bins. After he was gone I spent afternoons digging for anything he had ever shown me, desperate to hold onto this little piece of him.  Shards of plastic and pieces of the discs go skittering across the floor.  Another armful does little to quell the rising hysteria in my chest._

_Finally, I am out of CDs and I still, trying to wheeze in any air I can._

_It's when I see it._

_My father's guitar, his pride and joy, all alder wood and bone. Absolutely stunning, even today, in the dark daylight._

_I lift it up and look at it, holding it at arm's length._

_He told me he’d always be here._

_He told me music would save us, even on our darkest days. That all I had to do was shut my eyes and really listen. That it would hold me together when I felt like I was going to fall apart._

_He was a damned liar._

_I feel something sharp in my chest, something vile, a vacuous feeling that leaves little room for any other emotions._

_I raise the guitar over my head, chest heaving in the air that smells so much like my little sister, like lavender and lemons and that Dr. Pepper lip gloss she always wore._

_My father taught me notes and harmonies. He taught me to read sheet music and to practice chords until my fingers were stiff. All the good it did him, he died and his love went with him. I tell myself that it doesn’t matter anymore, all love has been blown from the universe._

_The guitar swings downward but at the last second I pull it up to my chest and hug it to me as I feel my legs give and I slide downward until I hit the cold hardwood floor._

_“You’re a liar!” I shout, my voice hoarse, my throat tight. Sobs rack my tiny body until my ribs hurt and my head pounds, until I curl in on myself, hair sticking to the salt on my cheeks._

_And when I cry myself out I crawl to Prim’s bed where I pull her sheets over my head and inhale her scent on the pillow, guitar still pressed to my chest. Slowly the tears dry on my skin._

_It's at that exact moment I decide that music, like love, is a waste of time._

_It won’t bring them back._

_And it won’t save me._

_XX.XX_

The Seam is like an oozing scab, all scrub brush, rusted car parts and children with dirty chins. In the early morning light, it looks worse, like a band-aid has been ripped off it, all red and blistered.  Early morning frost drenches everything in glimmering ice. For the first few hours of sunlight everything looks so pretty, but I know the truth, it just hides the rot.

   The metal chain at my hip clanks against my belt. I snake my hand out and twist it between my fingers until their white and bloodless and blessedly numb. All the metal, the chains, the rings, serves as a reminder that even though my insides have been laid to waste, despite my best efforts, I am still alive. Still here. When I jostle down the street it jolts me awake.

   Stay  It whispers.

   There is an abandoned house at the end of my street, all rotting wood and busted windows. A few years ago they boarded the windows and doors up but Gale pulled the rusted nails out of one board in a bedroom window near the backyard, leaving us enough room to wriggle inside.It is a little harder for him that it is for me, I am skinny as a boy and tiny, my shoulder blades sharp knives against my shirt. Gale is tall and slender as a knife, all legs and arms and dark hair falling into his face.

   I slip in through the crack in the window and perch myself on the windowsill, watching the dust motes hanging in the early morning light. Gale is slung across a rotting couch, his girl of the week, Leevy, pressed against his chest, legs tangled with his. Thom, a kid from his year at school is standing in the middle of the room, gesturing wildly while Gale brays like a mule at something he's said. Thom is dressed in a dirty white wife beater and a dirty, black suit vest.

   He talks about music, blues is the flavor of the month. Buddy Guy, B.B. King, Howlin’ Wolf, John Lee Hooker. Thom plays his old second-hand guitar on the street corner, sometimes Gale will break out his harmonica.I’d sing if I was in the mood, but that was before.

   “He’s Brilliant,” Thom says with a crooked smile. “I’ve gotten close to his sound all I need is-”

   “Pain.” I cut in, my voice hoarse from disuse. All of them turn in unison their eyes cutting to me.Their looks riddle me with holes and sucks all the air from the room. I try to recover quickly, working my face into a suitable mask.

   “And talent.” I continue. “Buddy Guy had boatloads of it and you have none.” I watch his smile slide off his face and shatter on the floor.

It makes me feel better, because, if only for one moment, someone else hurts too.  

   

   “Katniss,” Gale says, sitting up quickly, shoving Leevy away from him as if she burned him.

   “Gale.” I snap, mimicking his tone. He gives me a lopsided smile that doesn't ever reach his eyes. He's my best friend, or I guess I should say, only friend. We've known each other since we were little. His family lives next door and our fathers were friends, before the accident, before they both died screaming. Before I turned into what I am now, a mess of bones and skin and hatred that melts my insides. Before I started wearing all the rings on my fingers and the piercings on my face. Before my father died, before my sister, before I stopped going to school. Before my mother went insane.

   I run a finger down the length of the fabric that straps my guitar case to my back. I think about playing but quickly dismiss it.

   My father once told me that music was stronger than life, stronger than death, stronger than those little moments of doubt that keep you from sleep.

   As long as I play I am not me.

   Not sad, not afraid, not guilty.

   He’s dead.

   As for music, it is just noise.

   “You should play something,” Thom says and I snort. I hadn't realized how close he has gotten until he reaches out to grasp the pewter ring that hangs around my neck by a bolt of dark blue ribbon. I jerk back and stare at him with hard gray eyes that people always told me looked just like my fathers.

   “Don't touch.” I spit, tucking the ring under the collar of my shirt. He holds up his hands and cocks his head to the side, appraising me with amused eyes.

   “Easy, Kat.” he says running his hand down my arm and giving me his best charming smile, a routine that must work on a lot of girls, but not me.

   “Don't,” I say my skin prickling with electricity. I hear Gale groan as my arm comes up as I clasp my hand into a fist. “Don't touch me.”

   “Don't bother, Thom,” Leevy says, snapping her gum. “She's as nice as Ebola.”

   “Witty,” I mutter beneath my breath earning a hard look from Gale. Leevy rolls her eyes at me as Gale wraps an arm around her shoulder, leaning into her ear and whispering something. As if I needed a reminder that I am not like them, not anymore.

   They're all from the Seam, like me. It’s a slovenly neighborhood at the edge of town funded by food stamps and built out of corrugated metal and rotting wood and junkyards. Everyone who lives here is cut from the same cloth, dark hair and dusky skin, gray eyes that are heavy with something unnamable and hard. Everyone except my mother and sister, whose blonde hair and cobalt eyes stuck out like a sore thumb. When I was a child I would wish I looked like my mother, who was lovely with her red lipstick and creamy skin. All the fathers would stop to stare at her as we shopped in the supermarket. Now, I am glad I never inherited that beauty.I stick out enough as it is. The sharpness of my cheekbones and the slant of my eyes reminds me of enough ghosts, or at least they did before my mother smashed every mirror in the house.

   “I need to go,” I say, gathering my guitar case. Gale gives me look as I jump up on the windowsill.

   “Katniss.” I turn to look at him and see all those things he won’t say out loud. Those things I don’t want to acknowledge for fear that once I am staring them in the face I won’t be able to ignore them.

   He’s my only friend.

   “Be careful,” he says, clearing his throat. I hear it drifting aimlessly in the sea of his baritone voice.

   Forgive me.

   I turn away from him.

   “Always am,” I say and then I am gone.

   The seam is just waking up. Children are dressed in their winter clothes and walking to the bus stop at the end of the street, yelling and shouting in shrill voices that make me flinch. I shove my hands in my pockets as the biting wind numbs my face.

   I walk slowly, not eager to go home and face my mother’s empty eyes. I pass by old Cray’s wooden fence where he has nailed a line of masks that stare out at me with sightless, black eyes.

   That’s when I almost trip over a pile of blankets on the sidewalk. A woman called Ripper sleeps beneath them, she gives me a toothless smile and I just look out at her with eyes I work to make look normal. “Morning, girl.”

   “Hiya Ripper.”

   “Shouldn't you be in school?” she asks. She smells sharp, like vodka and peppermint and I have to take a step back to clear my head.

   “Maybe,” I say lamely.Truth is, I haven't been to school in days.

   “Here.” She holds out a shiny metal coin to me. “Take this and have your fella buy you a pop.” I don't take the coin, I just stare at it awkwardly.

   “I can't take that, Ripper,” I say, she gets a small stipend from the government but it isn't very much, not enough to live in a house and eat at the same time.

   “Nonsense, I tell your friend he can have a kiss.” she points to her face where a shiny pink scar runs down her nose and across her mouth, up towards the eye patch that hides the worse damage. “Right here, on the cheek.”

   I take the coin, mostly to get her to be quiet. I don't have the heart to tell her I've had a few fellas and none of them the kind to kiss on the cheek. She smiles at me as I move along, shoving the coin in my jacket pocket, where her kindness, like the cool metal, can't touch me.

   There is an old store at the end of the block made of stucco and the ugliest yellow paint I've seen. I go inside where it smells like old tobacco and hot dogs that have been sitting in the warmer too long. I buy a frozen dinner for my mother and a hot dog for myself and walk the remaining two blocks until I reach my house.

   My house is all peeling white paint and yellowed grass. It used to be the nicest house on the block before the sadness weaseled its way inside and people stopped coming by as if tragedy is contagious. The oak tree out front still has the tire swing that my father put up for Prim and I so long ago. I try not to look at it, keeping my eyes trained down as I walk but I nearly run straight into a car that is parked in the driveway.

   “Oh,” I say to myself, staring at the shiny white SUV in the driveway.

   Then my eyes dart upward to the porch where my front door hangs open. I feel the panic rising in my throat as I begin to run, dropping my paper bag of goods on the cement.

   “Mom!” I'm shouting, my throat hoarse as a cold, sick feeling embeds itself into my stomach. It finally happened, they've come to take her away, and no matter my feelings, no matter how much I hate her weakness, she's all I have left.

   It’s cold in the house, just as cold as outside. As soon as I am through the threshold I am kicking the bills and junk mail that lines the ground in front of the mail slot out of my way. I find my mother sitting on the couch, where I left her last night, her eyes staring out at nothing, a wool blanket draped over her shoulders.

   “Mom?” I let out a sigh of relief and kneel in front of where she sits. “Mom? Are you okay? Did you go outside?”

   I don't hear him approach.

   “Katniss?” I whirl around at the sound of his voice, my body immediately blocking my mother from his view.

   “Uncle Haymitch?” I feel my eyebrows knit together. I haven't seen my Uncle since my sister died, eleven months ago. He stood at the edge of the crowd in a dirty suit, Holding my mother through the worst of her grief. He watched while she narrowed a cold stare in front of everyone and screamed and shouted “Where were you?” over and over until I ran through the rain, my hair clinging to my neck. Nearly tripping over gravestones and sodden flowers.

   “Your school called.” He turns slowly, taking in my dirty living room. “Says you've been missing a lot of school and they tried to get a hold of your mother but the phone was disconnected.”

   Disconnected, pulled out of the wall in a fit of rage, the same thing.

   “Why are you here?” I snap, I feel my mother’s fingers tugging on my shirt in the back.

   “It isn't right.” She chants in a low voice, I swat at her gently to shush her.

   “Your mother is ill.” He says, his voice gruff, I suddenly find myself studying my shoes.

   “We're fine,” I say, leaning down as my mother’s voice becomes more insistent.

   “Fine?” My uncle snaps, waving his hands around him. “Look at this place!” It’s dark and cold and my mother has pictures of Prim nailed into the walls, taped to the windows, the ceiling. Week old take out is rotting on the kitchen table. The television lies in a heap on the ground where my mother threw it when someone was singing on some reality show, she insisted it was all wrong and shoved it to the ground. I left it there as a reminder, that this life- it's all wrong.

   “We're fine.” I echo through the silence as my mother’s cold finger skim my back. It doesn't sound as strong anymore, it sounds like I feel, tired.

   “I wouldn't exactly call this fine, sweetheart.” I hate his nickname for me, it sounds patronizing and smug. It makes me feel like my insides have been rubbed raw.

   “That’s rich coming from an old drunk!” I shout, my face contorting like I will cry, but I don't, I hold strong. His face falls for a moment before he smooths it back into a look of unapologetic apathy.

   “Katniss,” he says simply, looking at his hands. His eyes seem far away for a moment before he looks up at me. “I understand that you’re in pain-”

   I cut him off with a scoff.

   “You're coming to stay with me.” He snaps in a harsh voice. I am already shaking my head before he finishes his sentence.

   “No, Effie hates me.” Effie, his wife is a woman dressed in garish clothes and lipstick that stains her teeth, she wears Prada belts and is the exact photo negative of me.

   “This isn't Effie's decision.It’s mine.” My uncle says.

   “What about my mom?” I run my fingers through her hair and she leans into my touch. Who would make sure she eats? Who would make sure she hasn't crawled out the door and frozen to death in the snow?

   “I'm checking her into a hospital.”

   “Fuck that.” I turn and kneel in front of my mother, she leans her forehead against mine.

   “Prim will be home soon.” she whispers “Then we can go to the store.”

   She is in her Prim is still alive denial phase.

   

   Fuck.

   I have a fleeting image of a moment before my sister was born, I was so young it’s grainy and hard to decipher. My father must have been at work. My mother is dressed in a smart silk dress the color of the ocean on a spring day with her corn silk hair braided up away from her neck and her lips are painted bright red. She drives her beat up Oldsmobile to the supermarket across town and she buys me a soda from the machine outside and we sit on the hood of her car in the warm sun and watch all the people meander by with a cart full of groceries that we could never hope to afford and she tells me stories about each one.

   The woman with the child on her hip is a queen, the man in the suit is having a birthday party for his cat. The middle-aged woman in a tracksuit just won the lottery.

   I love her stories.

   I loved her so much.

   She left me alone.

   “This is the best thing for her, Katniss, and you know it.” I am dangerously close to tears. I blink rapidly and my mother reaches out, touches my face and smiles.

   “You're very pretty.” she says, “My daughter is pretty like you. She should be home from school soon.” I don't turn around. My uncle has his sharp eyes trained on the back of my head. “When Jack gets home you'll meet her.”She promises in a low voice.

   I ignore the way the air goes out of the room at the sound of my father’s name.  

   “She sounds nice,” I say and my mother nods, a faint, mousy smile on her face.

   “Katniss.” My uncle says in a no-nonsense voice, demanding that I look at him. I smile at my mother. A part of me wants to slap her across the face, another wants to hug her.

   “Katniss.” He tries again. “You can't keep living like this,” he says.

   My mother's eyes are searching mine, not a glint of recognition in them. I turn and face my uncle finally, and I see the sympathy in his eyes, the pity.

   “Just don’t.” I snap when he opens his mouth to speak.

   I make a beeline for my room, my combat boots slamming against the hardwood floor.

   My uncle says something but it is lost, the sound of my door slamming behind me drowning out whatever he was going to say. I set my guitar case next to the door.Silence is hanging in every nook and crevice of the house. I can feel my lungs threaten to shatter with each breath I take. My chin quivers as I study a rip in the floral wallpaper, I feel my nostrils flare.

Suddenly, I scream, a harsh, visceral sound from the back of my throat.

I turn and see my dresser. My father spent one precious weekend sanding and painting it a hearty evergreen, just for me.

I shove it over as something hot seeps into my blood. A glass figurine of a bird taking flight shatters, tiny shards of glass scattering across the floor. It is not enough, my blood still sings from within me.

It howls in the quiet.

I am ripping the curtains down, pulling my covers from my bed, slamming my fists against the floor.

The outside matches my insides now.

Prim’s  music box is on the windowsill, a dainty ballerina stands on top, her arms outstretched. I grab it and almost throw it across the room before the two little blue dots that are her eyes stops me cold, taking all the fight I have out of me. I hold her away from me as if she is made of poison.

Why is it that days and weeks and months can go by in a blur, but moments last forever?

There has been so many in my life.

My mother falling into a police officer's arms.

My sister’s backpack, bright pink against a cold gray day. The canvas darkening as her blood seeped into it.

Now this one, where I stare at the little ballerina, her bubblegum smirk mocking me. Her eyes two blue voids.

I set the ballerina on the ground in the middle of the mess.

Because I suddenly I feel like I might suffocate.

I crawl out of my window and sit on the roof for hours, I can here my uncle moving around the house, talking on his phone in a low murmur. I watch the afternoon light melt into the night as I work on making myself as still as possible.

   I think about climbing down to the ancient oak in the front yard. If I am careful enough I can crawl across a branch and tap on Gale’s window like I used to do when we were kids.

   I tell myself I wouldn’t like what I see.

   I’ll see that nagging guilt that he tries to hide from me. That little-unspoken thing that hangs between us.

   He wants me to forgive him and I am trying.

But the feeling of his hand, warm in mine is dragging me down into a depth that I fear I won’t be able to return from.

And neither one of us is known as the forgiving kind. Now he is next door, light glowing from his window, unreachable.  

   

   It's a moonless night, and by the time I finally crawl down the oak to the frostbitten yard my nose is running and my face is bloodless.  I leap from the final branch to the ground on lithe feet, my chains shuffling as I roll up on the ball of my feet.

   I curse and try to peer around the trunk. When I am sure my uncle isn’t going to clamor out of the house I hug the walls and I slip towards the backyard where I can turn onto the street without the neighbors noticing me.

   That’s when I see her.

   Twin caramel braids swinging as she runs, so far ahead of me I could never hope to catch her. Her crisp white blouse has come untucked from her skirt. Her backpack is slipping off her shoulder and her ballet shoes tied to her backpack tap out the rhythm of her feet.

   She won’t look at me.

   I sink to my knees in the frozen, dead grass.

   “Primrose?” My voice is barely there.

   I squeeze my eyes shut and take a shuttering breath.

   It isn’t real, she isn’t real.

   When I open my eyes she is gone. A gasoline rainbow.

   I swallow hard, trying to catch my breath. Is that all I am now? Seventeen, alone, seeing images of my dead sister?

   I walk slowly, my feet shuffling in the grass as I walk toward the back door. The first few droplets of rain dripping down my neck. By the time I reach the porch it is a downpour.

   My uncle doesn't seem surprised to see me as I slam the door behind me. We stare at each other for a long moment, the only sound between us is the rain pounding on the roof, finally, He breaks the silence.

   “I booked us on the flight tomorrow. Pack your things.” He says gruffly.

   I don't really hear him. Mother is singing, slightly off key. A song my father sang to her many times in the dead of night. I used to whisper it along with him, so scared he’d hear me when I was supposed to be asleep hours ago.

   _"Yonder stands your orphan with his gun_

_Crying like a fire to the sun_

_Look out the saints are comin’ through_

_It's all over now, baby blue."_

   I’m not even sure if she remembers why she sings it. At this point, it is just muscle memory, and Jack Everdeen isn’t here anymore, so she has to comfort herself.

   I hate her voice.

   The song sends shivers down my spine, waking something I was sure was dead. Something I hate.

   Still, I listen, because I deserve to hear.

   My mother, the ghost, alive but haunting me all the same _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song Lily Everdeen is singing is "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue." by Bob Dylan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tires screech, I smell burnt rubber and everything in me screams for me to run but for a moment I am stuck in place, staring at the headlights like a moth entranced by a flame. Does death hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to thank my amazing Beta the incredibly talented and amazing Wooly! I also want to thank Shannon for being an amazing source of inspiration and an absolute joy as a prereader, thank you for believing in this little fic of mine.

**“Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always”  
― Dante Alighieri**

 

**Chapter 2**

  
  


The sun isn’t up yet but I lay in bed with the blankets pulled over my head. The frigid wind is drifting in from my open window. My mother is babbling on the other side of the wall, her whispered words are lost to me, a melody of hollow promises and fevered vowels. The child in me wants to press my hand against wall that separates us, to feel her presence just on the other side, it's a hopeless thought, I don't understand her and she can't understand me. I shut my eyes and try to sleep.

 

Prim is at the edge of my consciousness. She is all wide-eyed youth and dewy skin. Her smile is unbalanced, just like my mothers, perfect in its imperfection.

 

“ _Katniss, walk with me_.” she begs, and I want to reach out to her but someone has a large, calloused hand in mine, dragging me back- pulling me away from her.

 

My mouth is just forming the words as a large pair of hands reach out from the fog around her and wrap around her middle yanking her back.

 

Her scream breaks something inside of me and I am wrenching away from that force that is pulling me backward, gently, away from my sister.

 

My teeth grit and my feet lock in place.

 

“Prim?” I can't see her anymore. My eyes search the thick mist around us helplessly. “Prim!” I shout, yanking against the force that carries me away.

 

“Katniss!” she wails, a faint sound that carries on a cold wind that prickles up my spine.

 

“Katniss, help me!”

 

I fight against the force pulling me away, shouting my sister's name. She has gone quiet and I feel my body go limp. It's done.

 

Even in my dreams I know she is dead.

 

“Katniss!” Someone is shaking me and my hand flies up to fist the soft material of his shirt. A hollow sob escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “It's okay,” he says, “Just a dream.” I'm not really listening, too busy trying desperately to suck in air.

 

“I'm okay,” I choke out as my uncle rubs his eyes tiredly. I'm not sure if I say it for his benefit or mine. “Just a dream,” I echo, watching as he looks around my room.

 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes out, his eyes wide.

 

“What?” I snap, suddenly feeling a jolt of hot anger dig through me at the look on his face. “What is it?” I'm on the defensive, my clammy skin tingling with an unnameable force. I don't want to hate my uncle, but it's too late, I hate everything.

 

“This place,” He stands and walks to Prim's bed, still rumpled from the morning of the funeral. That glass of water still sits untouched and stale. Her textbook is starting to yellow. He doesn't look at me when he says it, still, I feel the weight of his judgment. My room smells stale as the dust has settled on everything. “It's a fucking tomb.”

   He walks over and turns my dresser right side up, kicking pieces of wood and shattered glass out of his way.

   “And you,” I whisper in a cold voice. “You're still a useless drunk.”

   The soft tinkling of his laughter erupts and I pull my knees to my chest.

   “Keep trying kid,” I can barely make out the wink he throws in the moonlight. “You can't hurt me.”

   “I bet I can.” I feel my chin jut out stubbornly, my hands clamp to fist the blankets at my side.

   “You need to let her go.” He says softly, in an almost kind voice that sounds so much like my father it would break something inside of me if there was anything left to break.

   “You need to fuck off.” I grit out between clenched teeth.

   “Have you been taking the medication Dr. Aurelius gave you?” He asks in a patient voice, ignoring the snort I give. “Okay, how about the books Effie sent?”

   I opened one once but snapped it shut almost immediately.

   “You mean the one that told me I was safe in acceptance and I should learn to let go and _forgive_.” I spit the last word with all the venom I have.

   “That’s the one.” My uncle drawls sarcastically.

   I feel something hot and vile spitting in my chest. How dare he come in here and preach to me that I need to let go. He hasn't let go at all. He still has the pictures of his dead wife up in his house where he lives with a new woman. I feel my eyes narrow until their just slits. “Just like you let go of Leah?”

   His lips turn into a thin line on his face, his eyebrows furrowing together and he opens his mouth to spit something at me. I don't give him the chance.

   “Are you asking me to accept that my sister was murdered?” I ask, shoving the covers off of me and rising to my knees so I can snarl the words in his face. He opens his mouth to say something but it's drowned out by my voice. “Because I do not accept that.”His mouth flops open and shuts again.He reaches for me but I duck away from him.

   “Sweetheart.” he tries.

   “Just get out.”

   He stands and I notice his hands shaking, so slightly that someone else might not notice. He looks flustered and sorry and unsure. He opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off again.

   “Are you deaf? I told you to leave.” I want it to come out commanding but it just sounds tired. When I hear the door close quietly behind him I am overcome with how heavy my head feels. I lay there staring at my window, it's cracked and from somewhere nearby a Beatles song drifts in.

   I jolt up and stomp across the room and slam the window shut, the noise shattering the illusion of quiet that has seeped into the very veins of my home.

   I wish I could crawl somewhere dark and dank that smells like mildew and death. A place where I can be utterly alone, finally.

   I wish I could cross time and space and go back to the one moment, the one I could never have back, to the one second I was being pulled down the street. I don't need acceptance, I don't need books or medication, what I need is one fucking second back. I need more time, not a lot, the time it takes to peel an orange, blow my nose, shut a car door.

   I stare across the yard, through the leaves of the tree, the place where Gale and I made a tin can telephone that ran from his window to mine. His window is dark and still in the night.

   His voice rings in my head. “We have to hurry Catnip.”

   I feel my chin tremble and I swallow the hard cancerous lump that is forming in my throat. Slowly, with shaking fingers I slide the window open and slip out onto the roof, the shingles rough against my bare feet.

   The wind bites my face and I pull my oversized tee shirt around me tighter. I take careful, measured steps toward the branch that hangs in front of my window and I climb as high as I dare.

   I've always had a gift for climbing. Gale and I used to play a game, seeing how high we could get before fear would take over and when our feet hit the grass we'd be breathless with laughter, me being victorious. Until he fell and broke his leg one summer and my father demanded we stop.

   When I reach a nice sturdy branch I stop. I look down at the grass below and for a moment I feel dizzy from the height. I shut my eyes tight and demand that the world stop spinning, if only for this moment. My eyes are clear when I squint them open again. The bark is rough and cool against my fevered skin. I feel my arms unwrap from my middle and fall to my sides. My feet tilt and I let my toes hang off the branch.

   All it would take is for me to shift my weight forward, just slightly and I'd be falling, wind whipping my hair back away from my face. The ground speeding toward me.

   It would be just a moment, and it is mine to choose.

   I make the mistake of looking behind me. My mother stands at her window, blue eyes staring out across the yard, hand pressed to the window. She can't or doesn't see me. A strand of lank, golden hair is strung across her nose.

   I turn back to look at the grass and I see instead my sister, looking up at me with her hands on her hips a look of exasperation clear as day on her face.

   “Katniss, get down from there!” she shouts “Dad is going to be so mad.”

   Something tears into my gut, it sounds like fabric ripping.

   She isn't real.

   I step back onto the roof. It was just a moment.

   It's gone now.

XX.XX

   My uncle and the good doctor are speaking in low tones and I try to focus on their words but I'm staring at the painting on my mother's wall. It's a cabin on a beach, all sand and gray water whipping in the wind while a light is on in the cabin, peaceful as the storm rages on.

   She's on the bed, her knees sharp under the baby blue blanket she swims underneath. I helped her shower and dress in the bright pink tracksuit they gave her to wear. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders in waves.

   She hates pink.

   She hates tracksuits more.

 

   Doctor Aurelius is watching me with curious eyes as I take in the room. “Is there something you're concerned about Miss Everdeen?” He asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.For a long, tense moment the two men in the room stare at me. My uncle glaring at me sharply, the Doctor looks somewhat amused, like I might do something incredibly interesting.

   “The painting,” I can't stop staring at it, that cabin looks so calm. I see my uncle drop his head and sigh from the corner of my eye. I turn to glare at the two men. “The painting, take it down.”

   Aurelius pulls his glasses from his face and cleans them on the front of his crisp, white button-up shirt, and as he perches them back on his sharp nose he looks at me. I want to shrink down but I force my spine to stay straight.

   “Sweetheart-” My uncle tries to interject.

   “Perhaps later, we could-” Dr. Aurelius says at the same time.

   “Not later.” I snarl. “Now.”

   “Katniss!” Haymitch admonishes but I have already turned away and am glaring at the painting. I want to rip it from the wall myself.

   “I need maintenance to take it down and you have my word that they will.” The doctor says, shifting his weight as if I make him uneasy, I give him a stiff nod. Everything is spinning out of control but I have saved my mother from the mediocrity of Thomas Kinkade.     

   “It's a good thing you people weren't around three hundred years ago, you would have drugged every great painting out of every great artist,” I say to no one in particular. My mother used to like to paint before my father died. She'd sit on the porch with Prim in her lap and paint the birds in the trees. My house smelled like oil paint and turpentine as I would sit and watch her from the doorway.

   Even then she felt unreachable.

   It's only when my mother is sleeping safely in her prison bed and my uncle is dragging me out by my elbow that he finally speaks.

   “Well, that was incredibly rude of you.” He says.

   “Thanks,” I say with a smirk. He runs a hand through his hair and gives a long-suffering sigh. I see it in his eyes, he gives up on scolding me.

   “You hungry?” he asks, looking down at his watch. “We have a couple of hours before our flight.”

   “Sure, my sisters dead, my mom is nuts, let's have some eggs.” I spit, forcing my feet to move faster.

   “God, do you always have to be so-”

   “Enchanting?” I joke.

   “Caustic.” He says and I whirl around to face him, the smirk sliding off my face. For one long second, we just look at each other. He fingers the lapel of my worn leather jacket. It used to belong to his brother, sometimes I forget that.

   “I can't believe you still have this thing.” he says, and I can only look at him as he gestures to the rented SUV that sits cold in the parking space behind me.

   I don't say anything, just turn and climb in, shoving the guitar case down next to my feet. I turn and stare out the window vowing to myself I won't look at him once the entire drive to the airport. When the car is idling the radio turns on, playing something light and airy and definitely new. I punch the dial and the car is silent again.

   Just how I like it.

XX.XX

   After six hours in the belly of a metal bird, we touch down in Sacramento. I watch a family with tired eyes drag their oversized luggage out of baggage and toward the doors that lead to the parking lot littered with used coffee cups and Big Mac wrappers.

   Airports suck.

   My uncle returns from the restroom and asks if I am hungry. I shake my head mutely and bite at the corner of my thumbnail. I stand on sore legs, swinging my guitar case over my shoulder and looking around myself with uncertainty.

   “You alright, kid?” Haymitch asks, his eyes narrowing at me. I find it hard to look up from my boots but when I do I nod. He doesn't look like he believes me but gestures for me to lead the way out of the airport.

   It's a cool day, even in the dying rays of the early September sunlight. The sky is ablaze in golden light. I stand in the parking lot, looking around at the dirty parking lot. A woman in a bright purple sweater stands in the middle of the parking lot, her face mottled with pockmarks and tiny sores. Her arms flailing around her wildly.

   “The end is nigh!” she shouts. I feel like I am locked in place, watching her dark hair flying around her pale face. Her brown eyes lock on mine for a moment and I feel my whole body sag. I've known her, not her specifically of course, but people just like her. People starved, beaten down, broken. My eyes flick away from hers.

    _Coward_ , a voice in my head screams.

   My uncle leads me to his car and helps me in. I clutch my guitar case as we pull out of the parking lot.

   “I thought you didn't play anymore.” he says softly.

   “I don't,” I growl.

   “Then why drag that thing halfway across the continent?” my uncle is watching the road. A long empty silence follows, I finally clear my throat staring out at the blur of the cars on the 99.

   I give him the only answer I can.

   “I don't know.” I tilt my face against the cool glass of the window and shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

   An hour later Haymitch is shaking me awake. We're outside of a diner in the middle of fuck-all nowhere. “Thought you'd be hungry.” He says. “We still have a few hours to go.” I nod and open my door, letting the cool air blast against my face. It smells like cows, hot tarmac, and grease.

   I am halfheartedly picking at the crust of my toast when my uncle clears his throat.

   “I think you can be happy here.” he says.

   He's wrong, of course, but I don't say so. Georgia on my mind is playing softly in the background as my uncle stares into his coffee cup. I chew on my lip and look out the window at the headlights cutting through the dark as people pass us by on the freeway, off to a destination I'll never know.

   I wonder about them for a moment. Those people in those cars. Who are they? Are they as scared as I am right now? Are they as lost? Are they alone?

   I pick up my fork and stab at my sausage. “Whatever,” I mumble and go back to staring out the window. My uncle is studying me, I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to do something, cry maybe, or snap at him, say something mean. I don't give him the satisfaction, I remain silent and stone-faced.

   As we walk back to the car and I curl myself inside I feel more hollow that I did before. I am a strange girl, in a strange town, a thousand miles from home. I allow myself to think of my mother, sleeping in her cold room, under a scratchy blanket.

   Has she woken from that gauzy place she resides? Has the fog cleared? Does she remember her daughter and husband are dead and the last remaining piece is far away? Is she lonely? For a fleeting moment, I feel the heaviness of her loss.

   For a fleeting second, I know what it is like to drown. To have air trapped in your lungs, the weight of the ocean bearing down on you as you sink down into the darkness. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

only myself.

XX.XX

   I stare up at the Victorian house in front of me, it's painted a vivid turquoise of all colors with a bright red door. The trees in the front yard sway in a coastal breeze. Prim would love this place, its mismatched and bright, whimsical, magical. The windows are brightly lit, even though it's almost midnight, It radiates warmth.

   I feel my mouth twist and my eyes narrow. My uncle is behind me with the luggage waiting for me to make a move. I turn myself in a slow circle looking around me with barely concealed contempt. My father worked two jobs just to survive and my uncle had all of this? I swallow down the nasty words in my mouth.

   “Well, come on, sweetheart.”

   I stomp up the porch steps behind him and glare at the back of his head as he unlocks the door. The warmth inside is suffocating, from a heater, not a fire. The hallway is narrow and cheerful, flowers are everywhere, pink tulips, white lilies, purple irises. It has Effie's name written all over it. I can't imagine my uncle going to pick out flowers at a florist, it'd be like watching a duck climb a ladder.

   Then she's standing at the top of the staircase in a bright yellow dress, her hair an unnatural shade of silvery purple. Her face is caked in pale makeup, etching out each wrinkle making her look years older than she is.

   “Haymitch!” she says with a brightness that sounds forced. She turns to regard me with cool eyes. “And who is this charming Visigoth? it couldn't be Katniss?” my aunt asks as if she has never met me.  she moves with grace on high-heeled feet. She stops in front of me and places her hands on my shoulders. It takes everything I have not to shrink from her grasp. “Off to fight the Romans?” she asks and I feel my eyes narrow at her.

   “And everybody else.” My uncle mutters under his breath. I turn and glare at him as he shrugs. “I think it’s time for a nip of scotch.” He says and makes himself scarce.

   It is true I didn't always look like this. The dark, tight-fitting jeans and old t-shirt, the leather jacket, the chains, all the rings on my fingers, the piercings, the cold, hard stare. I look how I feel, angry.

   “You must be exhausted,” Effie says and practically shoves me up the staircase. “Let's show you your room.”

   My room? My whole life I shared a room with my sister, even after she died I kept all of her things as she left it. Her memory took over her space, no matter how much it hurt, I let it reside there because it was better than the alternative to having her nowhere.

   The room is small, the floorboards creak and moan, it smells like dust and mothballs. Effie stands awkward in the doorway. “I did what I could on short notice,” she says, almost apologetically. “I seem to remember you liked green.”

   A small, twin bed sits in the middle of the room with a soft, brown bedspread and light blue sheets. The curtains are billowy and light, the color of cream. I step inside and take a long, deep breath. The rug on the floor is a dark, deep green, a color you can get lost in. The furniture is dark mahogany. I turn to look at her, she has a hopeful look on her face, like she is waiting for the hint of a smile.

   My family was starving and they had the money for all of this?

   I step towards her and see the slightest hint of a smile on her face.

   Hopeful, almost.

   I slam the door shut, cutting off the light from the hallway, Effie on the other side.

   I drop my guitar case to the ground, propping it against the wall. I sit carefully on the edge of the bed as if it might detonate. Quiet is all around me and I dig my nails into the soft flesh of my arm. It serves as a reminder that I am real.

   And all alone here.

   I curl my knees into my chest and press my lips into my knees. I feel my teeth sink into the flesh there, though I don't register any pain. All I feel is the heaviness in my chest, the ever-present emptiness spreading through me like a stain, like wine on lace.

   I shut the light off and lie down on top of the blankets, my eyes locked on the ceiling. There is no quiet singing from behind the wall, no whispered words I don't understand, No noise at all but the wind outside of my window and my own ragged breathing.

   I dream I am floating under a blanket of water, an ocean of dark waves engulfs me. I reach for the sunlight that plays on the skin of the water, promising air, warmth, life itself.

   My sister's voice rings in my head.

    _Katniss, walk with me._

   I reach up toward the voice, but the more I struggle the more I sink. I finally resign myself to falling deeper into the darkness, until the light totally disappears, leaving me cold, to drift alone, Prim’s voice is gone, and I know she can't reach me, not here.

   I wake with my boots on, my rings digging into my skin, my earrings caught in my braid. I reach up and clutch the ring around my neck. Sunlight is starting to stream in through the window. It's still early, the house is quiet.

   I stand and smooth my hair down, I practically crawl to the front of the window and look out to the street. A boy is walking to a beaten up red pickup truck parked on the street, he isn't wearing a jacket though the sea fog has rolled in. His blonde curls brush the nape of his neck and he whistles to himself with his keys in his hand.

   He climbs into the cab and for a moment music blares from his open window before he turns it down and his truck drives off from the curb and roars down the street, leaving me to wonder where he would be going at such an hour. I envy his freedom for a moment. If only I had a truck I could climb in and not look behind me as I drive off into the early morning light.

    I hate the nameless boy and his pickup.

 

Breakfast is an awkward affair. Effie glares at me as my uncle seems to be warding off a hangover. I shovel bacon, eggs, and toast in my mouth but leave the orange juice alone, it's far too pretty and clean for anyone like me.

   After Haymitch has sopped up the remaining yolk with his toast he is standing up. Effie starts to clear the dishes and I stare at my half empty plate. “Are you done?” Haymitch asks and I nod, pushing the plate away from me.

   “Good, you're coming with me.” My head snaps up.

   “Where?” I ask, a wary edge to my voice.

   “My work.” He says simply gesturing for the door.

   “Why?” The word comes out harsh, violent.

   “I'm not leaving you here to run amuck.” He grabs me by the collar of my jacket and stands me up. “Come on.”

   My uncle inherited a line of restaurants from his father. There are a few of them scattered across Northern California. A place you can get an overpriced burger and bloody mary. The décor is a white middle class, with crisp white linens and waitresses with short skirts for the men to stare at while their wives order supermarket wine to feel better.

   Haymitch leaves me in his office that doubles as a store room, I spin in slow circles in his office chair while I stare at a shelf filled with canned goods and booze. How convenient for him that the liquor is stored here, easily accessible with no one else the wiser.

   

   I can hear the kitchen staff laughing as I chew on my lips until they bleed. I focus on a spot on the wall. How did I come to be here? Was it really only the day before yesterday I was at home with my mother? Now she's hospitalized and I am hundreds of miles away with no way to help her.

   I don't realize I'm up and moving until I am halfway out the door. I turn to see a man watching me, his sea-green eyes locked on my back. I raise my finger to my lips in a plea for silence before I slip through the door, it slams shut with finality behind me.

   It's still early, the only stores open are the small bakery at the end of the main street and a tiny coffee cart set up in the middle of a parking lot. I'm not paying attention to that, no, because who could? With the sea air, salty and tangy pricking at the skin on my face and the seabirds that crow and dip and sail in the air. Then there are the towering redwoods that loom in the distance, the place where the forest meets the sea.

   I don't know where I am going until I am there. I stand among the fog under the shade of a pine that is dwarfed by the redwoods surrounding it, staring out at the gray ocean in front of me, my boots buried in the soft white sand.

   I've never seen the ocean, it is wild and endless. The waves swelling and crashing against the rocks, spraying salt in the air. I feel something spark deep inside of me at the sight of it, some force that wakes up as I fall to my butt in the sand, my chains jostling in the wind.

   I make swirling designs in the sand with my fingers, watching a woman jogging along the sea line with her dog, earphones jammed into her ears. I just sit with my head resting on my knees as the gray water crashes against the shore, utterly undisturbed by time, not caring about my presence in the least.

   It is here, on a nameless beach on the edge of a town that doesn't know me that I unfurl this heat that has been gathering in my chest. I feel the warm moisture behind my eyes and I let them slide down my face. First only one, that drips off my nose, then more follow. Soon I am doubled over, fingers raking the sand.

   When the tears leave and I am hollowed out and puffy-eyed I pull my boots off, shove my mismatched socks off and creep to the wet sand, letting the icy water run over my bare toes. Here I am, as far west as I can get without being underwater, and still, my reality chases me. The truth hangs in every bit of me. I can't escape it.

   I can run straight into this fathomless murky water and sink like a stone, it won't change a thing, she's still dead.

   It's midday when I finally take in a ragged breath and walk back toward town with my boots in hand and my bare feet caked in sand. People are out and about, having lunch at cafe's and dashing this way and that. It is a warm day, despite the cool sea wind that whips my hair around my face. A market is set up in the middle of the town, it sells fresh vegetables and fish from the ocean, necklaces made of sea glass and wind chimes made from beer bottles.

   I slow and pause at each stall, the vendors try to make small talk but I fix them with a hawkish stare and they quiet down. I lift a necklace with a delicate pewter chain and examine it carefully. The pendant is beautiful, a gold bird with an iridescent pearl hanging from its beak. It's something I would buy for Prim, it's sweet and lovely, just like her.

   Someone laughs, light and tinkling and the necklace slips from my grasp as I jolt back to reality. My neck cranes around until I find the source. It's the blonde boy I saw across the street, the one with the red pickup. He is standing in the stall next to this one. His curls sway in the wind and he is laughing at something the woman manning the stall has said.

   I don't understand what the sound has done to me. It is like my entire being is soaked in a fire. I want to overdose on it. I train my eyes on the sidewalk in front of me as I listen to the lilt and timbre of his voice, It is husky and happy and something I can't fathom and when I find the courage to look up the boy has spotted me. His eyes have locked on mine, narrowed by the sun.

   Oh, and I don't like the color, or at least I tell myself I don't. It reminds me of a cloudless sky, the color as endless as that ocean I just spent the better part of the morning staring at. I could stare at those eyes all day, and I don't know why.

   I feel the cold sting of electricity humming just under my skin, prickling the fine hairs on my arm. I feel myself swallow hard and I force my eyes away from the boy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take a step towards me, his Adam's apple bobbing. His head is cocked slightly to the side as if I am a painting he is studying.

   I think he is meaning to come over to talk to me. I feel the icy grip of panic drip down my spine. I decide I don't like this boy, his laugh, his eyes or those curls that sway in the breeze. All it takes is one more heavy footfall towards me and I am running, knocking my way through the strangers and when I reach the end of the street I risk a glance toward him.

   He looks somewhat disappointed, his shoulders sagging slightly. His eyes still locked on my form. His fingers rake through his curls as the cool wind whips his shirt around his frame and he stands strong against its current, solid and steady.

   I turn away and drag my feet away from him, feeling the heat of his stare and wishing not to know why my body had reacted so strongly to him. Nothing good comes from knowing people, and he is no exception. Still, it seems I will never forget the look on his face as he watched me run away, and how I felt no satisfaction at putting it there.

   

   That night Haymitch sits me down at the table with a frown on his face. Effie sits across from me with her perfectly manicured nails drumming against the finely polished wood. Haymitch pulls a seat out next to her and sits there examining me with eyes narrowed as if I am a piece of meat. I shift uncomfortably in the silence, waiting for the screaming and yelling to start. He has barely spoken to me since I came back from the street fair. Finally, the silence becomes more than I can stand.

   “What?” I ask, my voice harsh.

   Haymitch leans back in his chair, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “I'm just trying to figure out what the hell to do with you.” He says. I feel a scoff forming at the back of my throat.

   “It's just-” Effie tries to interject but I level her with a hard gaze. She leans back and whispers something in her husband's ear.

   “Katniss, I understand that this is hard.” My uncle starts as if he is unsure of his words.

   “How the hell can you understand?” I snap.

   “Could you knock it off with that crap for two seconds?” He throws back, looking like he is warding off a headache. He doesn't give me a chance to respond. “I can't have you running wild all over town.”

   “I wasn't-” I try to defend myself but he keeps speaking.

   “Yes, I brought you here because your mother is sick but I also brought you here for another reason.”

   I feel my eyes narrow. “And what would that be?”

   “You're my half brother's kid. I loved Jack. You deserve more than that place can offer you.” I swallow the venom rising in my throat. That place. I get the seam is poor and its people aren't exactly clean and pretty, not like this place, but it is my home.

   “Your mother is from _that place_.” I grit out from clenched teeth.

   “That isn't what I meant and you know it.” He stabs his finger at me.

   “It's just, Katniss, have you given any thought to what you want to do?” Effie says meekly, placing a hand on my uncle's chest to placate him. “I mean, what about college?”

   College? I want to laugh in her face. Even if could afford college it isn't like Harvard is knocking down the door of a poor kid poorly attending her public high school. It's not like I have ever expected to be something great.

   “What Haymitch is asking,” Effie explains “Is what do you want?”

   I open my mouth and shut it again promptly. What I want to say hangs off my lips and Haymitch catches it, muttering it from between his chapped lips and clenched teeth, making it sound like something dirty, making it the utterly elusive thing it is.

   “You can't say you want your sister back,” he says, abrupt and unapologetic. In this moment I want to slap him, claw at his eyes, rake my fingers down my face, scream. Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.

   

   “So here is what's going to happen, I have a meeting with a headmaster of a school across town, one of the best in the state, you will come with me. Until then, you're going to work afternoons at the restaurant and you'll have the evening to yourself, you will be back in the house by eleven at night, no questions asked, no excuses.”

   I narrow my eyes at him. I feel a heat rising in me I haven't felt since my sister died. “If I don't? What then? You'll kick me out?” The last part almost sounds hopeful.

   “We can decide that when the time comes.” He says and stands, leaving no room for my argument. I sit there chewing on his choice of words, not if, but when.

   Effie follows him out, her high heels clicking down the hall. I stand on firm legs and stalk toward the front door, slamming it loudly behind me. Standing on the porch it really sinks in, how alone I am here.

   If I was home I could walk over to Gales, knock on the door and be welcomed inside. I could sit with Gale at the kitchen table while his little sister Posy chatters around my legs, I could listen to Hazelle, his mother, scold his brothers for running through the house. I could climb the stairs to lie in Gales bed and look out the window towards my darkened house, and for a moment I could chase away the sadness from my bones by pretending his family was my own.

   I forgot I shouldn't want that.

   Here I am trapped like an animal in a cage, all dripping teeth, bared and ready for the fight. I live here only at my uncle's mercy. If he should decide he could send me home, alone, with no mother and no way to pay the bills. I'd be out on my ass before I knew it.

   Or worse, he could put me into foster care where I am just a number on a page, a person without a history, at the will of people I don't know or care to know. People who don't care about the sisterless girl more hate than girl.

   And what else he is saying is I should be grateful, for this opportunity, for the chance to pull myself up by the bootstraps. He is saying that I don't have to room to be sad, not here, I should just shut up about the things that I have lost because it doesn't matter, I'll never get them back.

   I hate this place.

   I hate him.

   With nowhere to go, I fall on my ass on the porch steps and listen to the wind, my fingers clench and then unclench and then start again. Then almost immediately I am up, moving down the street, my mind trying to catch up with my legs as I begin to run down the road. I don't know where I am going and I don't care, as long as it’s away from here.

   Then she is there, running beside me with her braids flying behind her. My only ally in this world, gone but here at the same time. I don't question it, just listen to my boots hitting the pavement. Then she is darting out in the street.

   Just like the day she died.

   “Prim!” My voice comes breathy, from burning lungs and she doesn't listen. She turns to look at me, her face illuminated by the headlights of a car. She smiles that imperfect, lopsided smile. Her blue eyes dancing in the moonlight. My feet move before my brain has time to scream at me.

   She's gone by the time I reach the middle of the street because of course, she was never here. She was something my mind wanted to see. Tires screech, I smell burnt rubber and everything in me screams for me to run but for a moment I am stuck in place, staring at the headlights like a moth entranced by a flame. Does death hurt?

    I am knocked to the ground, gravel is stuck in my knee and my hands have scraped painfully against the pavement. Something slammed into the back of me and it wasn't a car. I roll over and cough the dust from my lungs. The driver is out of her car and screaming at me. She grabs me by my jacket and screams in my face.

   “Are you crazy?”

   What am I supposed to say to that?

   “I'm sorry,” I say.

   “Sorry? You don't look sorry-”

   “Sorry, you missed.” I want to smirk when I say it but I don't, my face remains impassive. My words hit their mark and she drops me, backing away slowly.

Bullseye.

   “Are you alright?” A voice from somewhere behind me says and I freeze for a moment. Then, my hands' ball and my scrapes scream.

   “I'm fine.” I lie, turning my head slightly and catching a glimpse of two concerned blue eyes.

   You've got to be fucking kidding me.

   My head whips around and I take in a heaving breath. Out of everyone in this town it had to be him. The boy with the blue eyes. He gets up slowly as the woman honks from her car. He offers a hand out to me and I stare at it until he retracts it. I don't need or want his help.

   Reluctantly I stand, dusting my pants off as the woman slams her hand on the horn. I flip her off and limp to the sidewalk, my knee singing.

   “Are you sure you're okay?” The boy has followed me, his curls sticking up in every direction and I avoid looking at him, instead, straightening my clothes, trying to assess the damage done to my shirt.

   I make a noise at the back of my throat, something between a scoff and a laugh. I can hear the pity in his voice and it makes something violent bleed into my veins. “I said I was.” I spit, moving down the sidewalk so fast I might as well be running.

   “I saw you earlier,” he says “At the street fair.” his voice is meek and unsure. “I wanted to say hi but you ran off so fast.” I risk a sideways glance towards him. He looks as if he might be sick at the words he just said, he has a shyness about him as he chews on his lips uncertainly.

   “Had places to go, people to see.” I lie and he smiles crookedly at my words, a dimple forming on his cheek. For a moment I wonder if he would still speak to me if he could see what I really am. If he could see the mottled, bruised flesh of my heart, all twisted and gnarled. Surely he wouldn't, he looks so whole, so pretty.

   “I'm Peeta.” He says, blocking my path, holding his hand out in front of him. My eyes dart down and then back up to his face. Blue eyes has a name.

   I feel my cold, mistrusting nature rears its ugly head. What does this boy want with me? He seems entirely too... wholesome. Back home the only boys who hang around me are the type to listen to The Sex Pistols belt out God Save the Queen while smoking menthol cigarettes as they try to weasel their fingers inside of my underwear. And the morning after they're always gone, and I've always liked it that way.

   I'd chew this boy up and spit him back out onto the pavement. Some little part of me wonders if he might like that.

   

   I feel a scowl tug down the corners of my lips as I stare at his hand. He laughs uncomfortably and there is that heat rushing through me. I feel my blood rush to my cheeks and I duck my head down.

“See, usually when someone introduces themselves the polite thing to do is tell them your name.” He says with a chuckle that doesn't sound unkind.

   “I'm not usual.” I snap, not liking the tone of his voice and the way it makes me... feel, like an open sore, like he can see everything inside, all red and angry and oozing.

   

   “Something tells me you're right about that.” he quips, his voice is smooth like honey.

   “I have to go,” I say from between gritted teeth, pushing him out of my way, I throw my weight into him and he barely budges.

   “Maybe I should walk you home?” he says quickly and I roll my eyes.

   “Why would you do that?” I ask.

   “You were almost hit by a car not even two seconds ago.” he rushes to get out, chasing me down the sidewalk.

   I whip around to face him suddenly, stopping him dead in his tracks. For a long moment I look into his eyes, trying to decipher his motivations, I chew on my bottom lip, my lip ring clattering against my teeth. I feel my eyes narrow as something chews on me. I see something I hadn't expected in his eyes, I was sure to find pity but I only find kindness, concern. I want him gone, away from me, where those Windex-blue eyes can't touch me.

   “Peeta, that’s your name right?” I ask with a hand on my hip. He smiles faintly, pleased I've remembered his name.

   “Yeah.” he says, almost breathlessly.

   “Fuck off.” I see his face fall, instead of filling me with satisfaction like I expected I feel hollow. His eyes slide down to the pavement, his hand shooting up to claw at his neck.

   “Yeah, alright, sorry to bother you.” His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him.

   I know I am not being fair. For a moment I want to apologize, he did just save my life after all. I don't though, I just watch him shuffle away from me. When I turn away I find I am fighting tears. I'll see your kindness, Peeta, I'll raise you pain. After all, it's what I am good at.

   I tug my coat around me, the cold sea breeze biting at my face.

   The street is quiet, I'm alone again.

   Mission Accomplished.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should of let me die.

 

**“There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness.”  
― Dante Alighieri**

**Chapter 3**

_My mother is dancing, her hips swaying in rhythm to a song that is playing on the radio, it is slow and sweet and gentle. Her blonde hair is a glossy curtain down her back and her lips painted red mouth the words as she dumps a cutting board filled with carrots into a pot on the stove._

_Her blue eyes cast down and catch me looking at her, she cracks a small half smile and holds her hand out to me. I step back against the cabinets as she takes my hand, so small in hers._

_She starts to sing, her voice off key, but it doesn't stop her from belting out the next verse._

_“I've got sunshine, on a cloudy day. And it's cold outside, I've got the month of May. I guess you will say, what can make me feel this way. My girl.”_

_Then she is scooping me up, and I wrap my small arms around her neck. She pulls me close to her and I can smell the soap in her hair and the heady scent of her make-up as her forehead comes to rest on mine. Her skin is damp and warm from a day of cleaning and cooking, but I don't mind because she is looking at me with those blue eyes that radiate kindness as she spins me in a slow circle, her hair tickling my cheek as she dances with me in the heat of the kitchen._

_My arms tighten around her neck. Feeling content to stay like this forever._

_And then my father picks up the song where my mother left off, and I crane my neck to see him standing in the doorway, leaned against the wall, covered in grease from a day of working on cars, oil smudging his cheek. His voice fills all the small nooks and crevices of the house and spreads through the empty air, rich and dark like coffee._

_The smile on my mother's face widens as she sets me down on the tiled floor gently, not sparing me a glance as she practically runs toward him. He captures her waist with his arm, winding it around her, and spinning her in a slow circle._

_I try to press myself into the cabinets, abandoned by my mother in favor of my father. I feel the first cool droplets of disappointment running down my spine. I have no way of knowing this won't be last time my mother makes me feel this way._

_My father presses a kiss into my mother's hair and catches me watching, he throws a wink my way which makes the smallest hint of a smile ghost over my lips, despite the sinking feeling in my stomach that I don't understand._

_“Come here, Kitten,” He says with a smile and I can't help myself, I run to him, just like my mother had a few moments earlier and he catches me with hands rough and calloused, pulling me to his chest._

_I am pressed between the two of them as my father pulls the two of us in a slow circle, singing softly in my ear, kissing my hair and I rest my head against his neck breathing in the smell of oil and pine and soap._

_I want to stay here forever, between the two of them._

   I ball the edge of my apron in my fist, trying to keep my expression as neutral as possible as the woman in front of me demands a booth in the back, but not too close to the kitchen or the bathrooms. It was Haymitch's grand idea to have me hostess after the normal girl called in sick. To say I'm not a people person is an understatement, I try to paste a lethargic smile on my face as the woman ticks off a list of demands. I turn away from her to grab two menus off the stack behind me, I roll my eyes at the wall before turning around with a fake, bright smile.

   “Right this way.” I grit out between my teeth, slapping the menus down on the first available booth, the woman opens her mouth to say something but I'm already walking away, promising to bring them water.

   I avoid servers and keep my eyes down as I push my way through the crowded dining room toward the back kitchen, ducking under black trays and slipping into the fluorescent lights of the kitchen where the staff is laughing, which abruptly stops when I enter the room.

   I grab two water-stained plastic cups and scoop crushed ice into them. My eyes narrowing to slits at the men who stare openly at me. A few of them crack up behind their hands and I turn on my heel, struggling to keep my face an impassive mask. This only makes them laugh harder.

   I practically throw the two glasses of water on the table and turn on my heel before the woman can ask for anything else.

   “I'm going on a break.” I snap at my uncle whose standing at the cash register, a pencil stuck behind his ear. He opens his mouth to protest but I am already halfway out the door.

   I stand in the cool night, taking in heaving lungfuls of the tart sea air. I push a sweat-soaked tendril of hair behind my ear and press my palms into my skirt, far too black, stained with mustard and sticky with soda.

   “Rough night?” A voice to the right of me says and I twist around to find the man with the green eyes, whom I've since learned is Finnick, looking at me with amusement, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

   “I guess,” I say, not really tasting the words before I spit them out.

   He chuckles, breathing out a lungful of smoke as rain begins to patter softly against the pavement. I chew on my lip for a moment.

   “You think I can get one of those from you?”

   He looks at me for a long time with squinted eyes. “How old are you?” He asks and I feel myself prickle.

   “Old enough.”

   He holds out a cigarette and I take it from him careful to keep my fingers far away from his. His coppery hair flutters in the breeze as he holds out his lighter, flame flickering.

   I take in my first harsh lungful of smoke and cough, exhale and watch the smoke wisp away. “Thanks,” I say, and he winks at me.

   “Anything for you sweetheart.” He says with a canary-eating grin.

   I take a long drag of my cigarette as my eyebrows knit together. I have a smart remark on the edge of my tongue when a truck roars into the parking lot, music blaring over the whine of the engine.

   Perfect.

   The red pick up pulls into a spot in front of us and I groan. Peeta swings his door open and steps down into the rain. Not wearing a jacket, just a soft flannel over a t-shirt, and his eyes meet mine for a moment before flitting away uncertainly.

   I take one more drag of my cigarette before stamping it out on the pavement.

   “Hey, Finnick!” Peeta calls, waving him over.

   Finnick turns to me. “Sorry sweetheart, duty calls.” and I watch him swagger toward the truck. Peeta digs around in the bed of the truck and brings up a crate, hefting it easily over his shoulder. The rain is already soaking his curls, they fall onto his forehead.

   He is intentionally trying not to look at me, his eyes drift toward me only to snap away at the last second. Finnick says something and jerks his thumb in my direction and finally those eyes land on mine. For a reason, I can't name I feel my throat go dry.

   

   “Hey sweetheart,” Finnick calls but the door is already shutting behind me.

   How small is this town? It seems Peeta is completely content on showing up everywhere I am and reminding me of the night I stood in front of the car, headlights blinding and bright, and how at the moment his body had slammed into mine, I had wanted to feel the warm metal bending under my weight. I wanted to feel the air on my face and then slam into the earth. It would hurt but for a moment I would have that wholly free moment in the air, and it sounds so much better than a life of walking a wasted earth.

   He should of let me die.

   I hate him.

   I stand on the other side of the door, my hands trembling. I pull my white button up shirt down and straighten my skirt before I fix the deadest stare I can on my face and force myself to take one step, then another.

XX.XX

   

   The ocean teases my toes with its cold foam. It's an unseasonably warm day and the beach is crowded with people taking advantage of the sun. A girl plays a few feet away from me, clad in a pink one-piece and Minnie Mouse sunglasses, she darts to the shore and as the waves swell she races back to the safety of the beach, giggling like mad.

   I pick the lint from my shirt, dead bent on ignoring her, even though her laugh has crept into my bloodstream and pounds in my skull like a migraine. I drop my body into the soft sand and shut my eyes against the blinding sunlight, willing it to drag me into a gauzy, sun-soaked sleep.

   Prim would laugh like that.

   Sometimes I miss her so much I think it will kill me. I miss the ballet practices she'd drag me to. I miss her mismatched socks and the way she could always pull a smile from me, even in those dark days after my father died when I would sit doubled over with grief on my bed as we slowly starved. I miss the mundane things, board games on rainy days and silly arguments in front of the TV.

   My eyes pop open and I am sitting up, sand trickling from my braid. Because I can hear her, faint, but resolute. Then I see them, as real as anything I have ever seen are two caramel braids bobbing on the waves.

   “Katniss!” she yells, her voice shrill with desperation. “Don't let me drown.”

   I screw my eyes shut and bury my face in the crook of my arm.

   “No,” I whisper. “No, you're not here.”

   “Are you okay?” My eyes snap open and my head shoots up. Peeta stands there, obscured by the sun, his ash blonde hair glinting.

   “Why wouldn't I be?” I spit as my eyes dart away from him.

   He smiles faintly, a soft quirk of his lips. It's warm and charming, something totally foreign to me. I hate charming, it is cheap and plastic, untrue. I bite my lip and turn away from him, studying the skyline. The two braids are gone, the only thing out there are the endless, tossing, gray waves.

    “Just, ah, seemed like you were sad is all.” He hedges, running a hand through his curls, messing them up.

   I feel something hot bubble up from my stomach at his words. Sad? I snort indignantly and stand, brushing the sand from my pants. I turn on my heels and trudge up the beach, hell-bent on leaving Peeta behind me.

   He stands there for a moment, as if unsure, then follows after me, jogging to keep up. “You know, I don't even know your name.” He says.

   I roll my eyes upward. “None of your business.”

   Another quirk of his lips from the corner of my eye. “Pleased to meet you, none of your business.”

   I turn to face him suddenly, he stops abruptly, his face goes slack for a moment before his eyebrows knit together.

   “Why?” I pause, searching for the right words. “Why won't you leave me alone?” I ask. He seems stunned for a moment before smoothing his face.

   “I’m not sure.” He answers, running his hand through his hair. I search his face, trying to find the butt of the joke but only find truth in those endless, tortuously blue eyes.

   “Katniss!” someone calls from behind me.

   “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

   “Katniss.” Peeta breathes out, tasting my name on his lips, it feels heavy coming from his husky voice. I find my heart clenches uncomfortably at the sound. No one has ever made my name sound like that. It sounds soft and ethereal, almost childlike in its innocence. I feel something warm skittering under my skin.

   Finnick is standing off to the side, looking bemused and quite pleased with himself. He is shirtless, skin golden and copper hair wavering in the wind. He crosses his arms over his chest and winks at me.

   “Well, well, seems Peeta found himself a little, lost kitty kat.”

   “Fuck off.” I snap indignantly, tugging on the end of my braid.

   “Kitty has claws,” Finnick says, throwing a wink in Peeta's direction and wrapping an easy arm over my shoulder. I shrug out of his grasp. Turning to head toward the street.

   “Peeta, I wonder what it might take to make her purr?” His voice is smooth as caramel. I feel my face flush hotly, as I turn to glare at the smiling Finnick I see Peeta, beet red and clearly mortified, ducking his face from my view. I feel my stomach twist painfully.

 

“I need to go,” I mumble, stumbling up the path, pushing through people until I reach the solid pavement of the street.

   

   

   I make the mistake of turning around, both boys watching me, Finnick with amusement and Peeta? He is as good as unreadable to me.

XX.XX

   I grip the throat of the phone, staring down at the buttons. It's like I am looking at them through a fisheye lens, they seem too big, too bright. I take a deep breath and press the receiver to my ear, punching the numbers with shaking fingers.

   It rings once.

   Then twice.

   “Hello?” Gale says, his voice gruff with sleep.

   I feel my heart climb up into my throat at the timber of his voice. He sounds strong, alive, fierce. I open my mouth and promptly shut it again. What do I even say?

   I miss you?

   I'm scared?

   In the months after my sister died something crawled between us and try as I might, I can't jostle it loose. Some sort of twisted sadness grew from my bones and spread through the empty spaces between us. It's like when I see those gray eyes of his, sharp as a knife, the memory of his hand heavy in mine, dragging me away from my sister comes flooding back in, threatening to drown me beneath my grief.

   I thought maybe the distance would help, but it doesn't. I thought maybe hearing his voice on the other end would dampen this loneliness that creeps in at night, but it doesn't, it makes it sharper. I stand there, my mouth flopping open and shut like a fish out of water.

   I slam the phone down with more force than necessary. It echoes through the quiet house as I wander down the hallway, sighing as I reach the door.

   I could go back to bed and crawl into my expensive sheets, but expensive sheets do little to banish the nightmares from my head. I glance and the clock, 11:30.

   Fuck Haymitch and fuck his rules.

   I've made it halfway down the stairs when I notice the wide yawn of the door across the street, light spilling across the perfectly manicured lawn. A crash sends me scampering back to the safety of the shadows.

   A box is flung out the door and lands on the porch steps, paints and brushes rolling out and down the steps and onto the wet lawn. Peeta emerges from inside, sighing at the sight so softly I can barely hear it.

   The door slams behind him with such force the whole house shutters.

   He examines the mess for a moment before stooping to pick up small silver tubes of paint and brushes that are rolling away from him.

   I don't know why, I can't explain it at all, but I inch forward until I am standing on the sidewalk just feet away from him. He hasn't noticed me yet, cursing under his breath as he flings the last of his belongings into the box.

   He's straightening when I finally clear my throat.

   “Jesus Christ!” He jolts back, clearly startled by my presence, one of the brushes falls from the box and I retrieve it, handing it to him uncertainly.

   He takes it gently, whispering his thanks as I stare at him. His shirt is crumpled and his jeans are stained with yellow and blue paint. It makes me think of my mother and how she'd paint the landscape behind our house in the evening light. I swallow the memory down deep into my stomach where it can rattle inside of me without disturbing the emptiness on my face.

   Peeta shrugs from my gaze, I realize I've been staring so I look at my boots. I don't know why I am so uncomfortable around him. Maybe when I see him the memory of those blinding, white headlights comes creeping back in and the fact that I wanted it.

   And he pushed me to safety. I'm sure he meant well, but can't he see it? That the heat of hatred has melted my organs into something unrecognizable, like the twisted metal of the car that became my father's tomb, steaming in the cold January air.

   I had wanted it. And some part of me, deep inside, hates my weakness. The rest of me? Hates Peeta with such venom because no matter that kindness that seems to color his eyes that soft blue. I know what he really is, my savior, no matter how cruel it might have been.

   “So, you're Haymitch's niece?” Peeta asks, placing the box in the back of his truck. He looks nervous, chewing on his bottom lip and looking up at the stars.

   “Yeah.” I spit and his eyebrows crinkle curiously.

   “Why do you hate me?” he blurts suddenly, a blush creeping onto his face.

   I'm taken back, it's a rude question, but to be fair, I haven't been the nicest person to him. I lean against his truck, making an effort to look more at ease, knowing I am failing terribly.

   “I don't.” I feel my eyebrows knit together. “I don't hate you.” It's a lie, a total lie, but I don't feel like having that conversation with him. I don't feel like having any conversation with him. Yet here I am, standing a few feet away from him, awkwardness radiating from the two of us.

   “You do,” he says evenly. “I can see it all over your face.” At this, I feel my fingers laced into fists at my side.

   “You don't know me, that's just how my face is.” I retort sharply, stepping away from the truck to spit the words in his face. I am ready to rip into him about how he should be more careful about the strangers he saves, how some of them might not be so nice but the smile that invades his face stops me cold. It knocks the breath from my chest. He laughs, light and breathless.

   “See?” He says “You totally hate me,” His face grows serious for a moment. “Why?” he asks, a fair question but one I can't answer without metaphorically disemboweling myself on the sidewalk in front of him. I say the first thing that comes to mind.

   “Fuck you, that's why.”

   He flat out laughs at that. Why is he so irritating? I turn on my heels, muttering under my breath to myself and crossing the street. A light flickers on in Haymitch's room, it stops me dead in the middle of the street. I feel my breathing hitch in my chest, my ribcage suddenly too small to house my heart that pounds uselessly against it.

   His voice is so small I almost don't hear it.

   “Wanna go for a drive?”

   My eyes can't seem to move from the light. I see a shadow cross the room, I exhale loudly. Suddenly that house feels like the prison it's been, too big, too cold, too empty. I feel my nostrils flare for a moment I must look like the trapped animal I am.

   I need to run.

   I turn to him and nod mutely. He nods back, giving me a small crooked smile and climbing into the cab of the truck. He reaches over and opens the passenger side door for me. For a moment I question my sanity. A boy I barely know, in a town that doesn't know me, this could be a disaster. Then I remember that I don't care. I launch myself up into the truck.

   He turns the key in the ignition and the truck sputters to life. The Ramones are singing about sedation and I click the stereo off.

   “Don't like The Ramones?” Peeta asks and I shrug, my eyes flitting away from his.

   “I used to,” I say and I wait for questions that don’t come, he just pulls away from the curb and we roll down the road in uncomfortable silence. He doesn't say much, his eyes locked on the road in front of him.

   I curl in on myself, tucking my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, his eyes flit to me for a moment, but he doesn't comment on it. We fly through the night and I watch the two yellow lines in the middle of the road glaze over with our speed, the world around us a blur, and me? Stuck in place as always, while everything around me is drenched in chaos.

   I press my forehead into the window, my body as far away from Peeta as it can get as I wish idly that his truck had bucket seats. I can feel the warmth radiating from him from here and I hate it. He doesn't say anything to me the whole drive, I don't say anything to him. The silence around us is an old friend, whispering sweet little nothings all around me.

   We reach an empty vista, he pulls the truck into the parking lot. In the darkness, it's difficult to make out where the sky ends a and the ocean begins. After a small pause, I open my door, the heaviness swinging it out as the salty wind hits me in the face.

   I step out, the tendrils of hair that have escaped my braid catching in the air. I tilt my face against the wind and my eyes slide shut as I take small steps toward the rock wall that hides the cliff face.

   It's like the whole world melts away.

   Before I realize what I am doing I have climbed up the wall, dust on my fingers and the cool rocks under my feet, staring down at the darkness below the cliff.

   I am desperate for that blackness. I want to know what is at the end of it.

   “Hey,” Peeta whispers, his voice timid.

   I turn to look at him, engulfed in headlights, his blonde curls glowing in white light. He looks like he is working hard not to scare me, but he seems slightly scared himself. His lips are tugged down in a frown and his eyebrows are knitted together with concern.

   “You should get down from there.” He insists, his fingers twitching toward me. I look back down at the darkness and swallow hard, my saliva turning to a rock in my throat.

   My voice comes out shaky and small. “What's down there?” I ask, more to myself than him.

   He is quiet for a long time, I don't think he'll answer me but when he does his voice is much closer. He has come to stand next to me, peering over the edge at the night. “Just more darkness.” He says, holding his hand out to me.

   I stare at like its a snake in the grass.

   I have no reason to trust this boy, with his golden hair and blue eyes that I am sure knows nothing about hunger pains or death, but for whatever reason, I take his hand, as warm as I imagined it would be, I let him help me down from the wall. He smiles at me like I have done something hopelessly endearing.

   As soon as I am back on the pavement I release his hand and swipe my palm against my jeans. I join him where he leans against the bumper of the truck, between the headlights.

   “This is my favorite place in the world.” He says with a smile.

   “Why?” I ask. It seems like it's just a parking lot on the side of a road.

   “You'll see.” He promises.

   The world falls silent around us and It suits me just fine because my mind is still standing on that ledge, looking down. The night is cool, however, I shiver beneath its weight. I hope Peeta doesn't catch it but he does and he shrugs out of his flannel shirt, leaving his arms bare to the cold night air.

   “Here,” he says softly, holding it out to me. I don't take it, I just stare at it. When I refuse to move toward it. He rolls his eyes and drapes it over me. It smells like vanilla and cloves and it's still warm. I want to dash out from underneath it but the smell is intoxicating and oddly comforting.

   “How long do we have to wait?” I ask, my voice slightly irritated.

   He looks down at his wristwatch. “A while.” He says it's.

   A stillness falls between us as he climbs onto the hood, I don't say anything but follow suit, the warmth of the engine melting through my jeans. I lay my head down to look up at the spray of stars above us, glittering in the inky darkness.

   I used to drag Prim outside on warm nights to lie on a worn blanket to watch the stars sometimes. We'd snuggle together and try to find constellations. It was a savior in the summer months after my father died and my mother was sobbing in bed, the sound ringing through the house.

   We'd escape to the back lawn, the sky endless above us.

   Prim's voice rings in my head.

    _They look like all the souls in heaven._

   My voice answers back in my head.

    _They're just dying light._

   My eyes are heavy and I shut them, the smell of cloves pulling me down somewhere heavy and blessedly empty. For the first time in God knows how long I don't dream. When Peeta shakes me awake my body isn't sore from clenched muscles.

   He is in the same position as before, still sitting next to me a few inches between us. I jolt upward and he smiles, one side of his lips quirking up farther than the other. The sky is melting from black-blue to pink as the sun slowly bleeds upward.

   “Why didn't you wake me!” I snarl.

   He just shrugs. “You don't scowl so much when you sleep.”

   “Fuck off.” I snap, running my fingers over my scalp trying to tuck my hair back into place. If he is offended he doesn't show it.

   “Shhhh.” Is all he says, pointing toward the sky. “You don't want to miss this.”

   I open my mouth to insult him but my voice catches in my throat because I have followed his finger to the sky that is awash in fire.

   Everything inside me starts to shake.

   The whole sky is a soft pink, streaked in orange and red as the sun wakes from a cool sleep. It makes the Pacific ocean, normally a cool gray, a bright blue. Before I know what I am doing I have hopped down from the truck and crossed the parking lot to the rock wall. Below are all green trees and soft white sand and sharp rocks. The ocean crashes against the land in an empty rhythm, and here I stand.

   Where the sky meets the sea.

    I turn to look at Peeta and he sits where I left him, a goofy grin on his face. I feel the weight of my lips quirk up in a shy smile. I turn away from him and look back to the sky, not wanting to miss a moment.

   For a long aching second, I feel inexplicably lonely.As if everyone and everything is a million miles away from me.I feel myself go lifeless again.

   I have the window down the whole drive back and I let the cool wind brush my skin. The truck finally whines to a stop in front of Haymitch's house and Peeta waves shyly at me as he pulls away from the curb, I hide my surprise when he drives down the street and disappears around the curve.

   I cross the street on numb legs and try the front door.

   It's locked.

   I curse to myself and cross the yard, finding some lattice that leads to the roof, I climb upwards, cutting my hand on the rough wood. I ignore it and find my window, my hands struggling to find purchase but I use all my strength and finally, it groans upward. The warmth of the heaters blast against my face I feel myself sigh and go limp with relief.

   “He's a good kid,” Haymitch says and I feel myself jolt. “Despite what everyone says.”

   He's sitting slumped on my bed, his figure looking years older than he is. I don't say anything, just stare at him as stands, appraising me with cold eyes. I chew on what he says, who is everyone? And what have they said about the boy with the blue eyes? It's pretty clear he's a good kid I can't remember a time that a boy took me to the middle of nowhere and didn't try anything. Why would they say anything different?

   I don't trust Peeta, his eyes are too blue, too kind, too honest.Usually, honest eyes come attached to liars.But from what my uncle just said it's pretty clear that he doesn't trust me either.

   “You should stay away from him.” My uncle says, pointing in my face. “This is strike one.”

   “Whatever,” I say my skin prickling in anger.

   “Take care of that cut.” he spits “Looks like it hurts.” The door slams behind him.

   I look at my arm, where it hangs lifeless at my side, red running down my palm toward my fingers and dripping on the floor.

   

   “Yeah, Haymitch,” I whisper to my empty room. “It hurts all the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song Katniss's mother is singing is of course, My Girl by The Temptations.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's right though, his words hit me square in the chest. I'm bitter, caustic and cold. This boy sees it in me, I wonder if Peeta does too?

**“In each fire, there is a spirit; Each one is wrapped in what is burning him.”  
― Dante Alighieri**

 

Chapter 4

_Snow clings to everything in a gray, sludge blanket and I hop in pink booted feet to jump into the melting puddles of the parking lot. My father has my hand in his, laughing at my antics, his nose tinged pink in the icy air. I tug on his arm, trying to move him faster toward the small diner lit in neon, even in the early morning air._

_“Can I get waffles?” I ask him and his lips wrench upward._

_“You can have whatever you would like, Kitten.”_

_“Can I get Bacon?” I ask._

_“Yep.” He responds in a voice light as air._

_The game continues with me listing every food that my little six-year-old brain can think of. When I finally get to lasagna my father quirks his eyebrows._

_“I don't think they have lasagna, baby.”_

_But once we are inside there is only one thing I can think of that I want. Hot Chocolate and my father is one to keep his promise, ordering me a large cup with whipped cream and sprinkles and even a light dusting of cinnamon. My father tells me to wait for it to cool but I am so excited I don't even care when it burns my tongue._

_I have my father to myself today and nothing could ruin this day._

_When our tummies are filled with sugar, syrup, and waffles my father tugs my cap over my ears and wraps my scarf around my neck tighter and carries me to the car, I tuck my face into his neck. He smells like woodsmoke, pine, and maple syrup, and when he belts me into the back seat I feel myself drifting off to sleep._

_When he turns the ignition Otis Redding is on the radio and he sings along quietly until my eyelids are sagging and the world is reduced to shadows._

_Something is wrong._

_I feel it as soon as my eyes pop open. The car is cold, sitting idle in the driveway, my father's door swung open and the wind is stinging my cheeks. I feel my stomach swoop as I twist my head toward the window. My father stands in the yard, his body blocking my mother from my view._

_She's sagged over in the snow, her legs curled beneath her. I twist in my seat, trying to see her face. I wish I didn't._

_She's covered in red, it's smeared on her cheek, down her arms, dripping onto her dress from her hands, it clumps her hair together._

_“Listen to me Lil,” my father has her head pressed between his hands, his voice low but urgent. “Listen.” He tries to gain her attention but her lifeless eyes just stare out across the yard._

_“Where is Prim!” My father shouts in her face. “Where is our daughter?” he asks, his voice shaking._

_My mother says nothing, just smiles brightly. Her eyes are still, cold, dead._

_“Lily. Where. Is. Prim?” My father is searching her eyes for life and it snaps something inside of my mother and she starts to cry. My father presses her face to his chest. The front door is yawning open and my father stands, the red from my mother staining his shirt._

_“Primrose!” I can tell he is trying to keep his voice steady as he enters the house, disappearing from my view._

_So carefully, I unbuckle myself and open my door, trying to make no noise but failing miserably. I approach my mother slowly, feeling my heart beating in my throat._

_It's the first time I can remember ever being scared of her._

_“Mama?” I say in a small voice and her eyes flit sharply to mine, the blue boring into me. There is something jerky and unnatural to her movements._

_“Mama?” I try again. She smiles and it seems too big for her face, all white teeth, and red blood._

_“I've got sunshine on a cloudy day.” she sings, My feet skitter backward._

_My father emerges from the house, little Prim on his hip as he rushes down the steps and sets her in front of me._

_“Katniss, listen to me honey,” It takes everything I have to rip my eyes from the blood on my mother's legs. “Take your sister to the Hawthorne's and wait for me please.”_

_“Dad, I think Mom's hurt,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away from her._

_“Katniss!” My dad shouts something I have heard so little of it in my life it stills everything inside of me “Go to the Hawthorne's.” he says, leaving no room for argument. I take Prim's hand and lead her across the driveway._

_When I reach the porch I turn to look at my father, scooping up my mother's small frame and pushing the lank hair from her eyes. He whispers something to her that I can't hear. She starts to cry again, howling words that I can't make out into my father's chest._

_He buckles her into the car and drives off fast, much too fast._

_I knock on the door as Prim babbles next to me._

_“Mama?” she asks and I look down at her all blonde curls and dimples and pale pink skin._

_“Mama will be alright," I state as Gale answers the door._

_“My mom is-” I search for the right word. “Sick,” I say flatly and he opens the door wider so I can pass him._

_It's a lie, she's sad, not sick._

_It's not the last time I will tell this little lie._

_When my father finally comes back it's long dark, he's still stained from my mother's blood and his lips are in a white, bloodless line. When I answer the door the envelopes me in a hug and tells me I am a good girl, then he cries and I run my small fingers through the cool strands of his hair._

_Mom doesn't come back for three days and when she does she looks a little better if a little pale and she smiles at me from where I eye her near the door. I don't return the smile, just keep my ever watchful eyes on her and press myself into the wall as I watch her climb the stairs and lock herself in the bathroom, already picking at the edge of the clean white gauze that swaths her arms._

_My father has a pill bottle gripped tightly in his hands as he watches her ascend the stairs like she's something straight from heaven._

_But I see the fear there, too._

_XX.XX_

   My uniform is slightly too big. The crisp white button down shirt bunches in places it shouldn't and the pleats in my gray plaid skirt hide most of my legs. I examine myself in the mirror critically for a moment before sighing and tucking in the tail of my shirt into my skirt, running my fingers down to the hem of my skirt to tug it down. I frown at myself at let out a half-hearted sigh.

 

   When Effie had drug me to the mall I made a point to buy clothes too big, hoping for a bit of protection. I can't wear my chains or my boots or my father's jacket, nothing that makes me, well, me. The school is forcing me to expose myself, my legs bare, my shirt thin, at least they don't force me to wear my hair down.

 

   Fascists.

 

   I pull on the warm wool jacket that Effie insisted on buying and tuck my braid inside the collar.

 

   Clearwater Preparatory school is a place I already hate.

 

   Filled with Rich white kids on their way to Harvard, Stanford, Yale. Places I would never know. The headmaster was a stout man with little patience for me. He had stared at my transcripts from over his wire-rimmed glasses with a thinned out smile.

 

   “Well, Miss Everdeen.” he had said, setting the crisp white paper down and examining me shrewdly. I force myself to lean back in my chair, biting my middle finger and smirking coyly at him.

 

   “I'm impressed by your GPA, just a year ago you were testing well above your level.”

 

   I snort.

 

   “Then your grades dip drastically.”

 

   “Her sister died.” My uncle supplies helpfully from the chair next to me. He's been mostly quiet up until now, he leans forward in his chair as if telling the headmaster a secret. “Katniss took it pretty hard.”

 

   “Quit talking about me like I'm not here.” I snap.

 

   “Katniss, I am concerned, we're a prep school which means we expect greatness from our students, I'm worried that with missing so much school you won't be able to keep up with the class loads.”

 

   “You expect greatness.” I mock, my voice cold and hard. “Because no one pays thirty thousand dollars in tuition for anything else.”

 

   “Katniss.” My uncle warns but I am not listening.

 

   “No one pays that much so their kids can go to community college.”

 

   This hits a nerve with the Headmaster who removes his glasses. “We expect greatness because every child here at Clearwater has it in them, you're no exception.”

 

   “Whatever,” I say.

 

   My uncle stares at me coldly. The headmaster looks down at the paper in front of him. I curve my lips into a smirk.

 

   “It says here that you play four instruments, guitar, cello, violin, and piano.” the smirk slides off my face and shatters on the floor.

 

   “Played.” I correct, anger ripping through my stomach.

 

   “She's been having a hard time.” My uncle supplies and I shoot him a look. “She doesn't really play so much anymore.” He isn't looking at the man anymore, he's leveling me with a look that only my uncle can give me. I flip him off under the desk.

 

   “We have an excellent music program, several of our students have ended up at Juilliard.”

 

   I snort. Don't they know that this is a waste of time? Don't they know that when my sister died the music died with her? I have no interest in running a bow over a violin, I don't want to mess with hammers and strings and I have no desire to sit in a room filled with rich kids and pour music out of me like water from a cup. That part of me is dead.

 

   I must've said that last part out loud because the two of them are looking at me with eyes glazed over with pity.

 

   Now as I stand in my room I look down at my class list, swallowing the lump in my throat.

 

   The first class listed is _music 8:00 am, room C102_.

 

   I grab my bag from the floor when Effie knocks on the door. Ignoring the twist in my gut. They can force me into the room, they can hand me an instrument, but they can't make me play it. It's the only thought that keeps me from slipping out the window and away from the house.

 

   “Do you want something to eat?” Effie asks and I roll my eyes and ignore her.

 

     “You look nice in your uniform.” She tries again, teetering down the stairs on her high heels.

 

   “I look better than you.” I spit, the iron ball in my stomach getting bigger the closer I get to the door. I have no patience for Effie and her pink dress today. I fling the door open and stomp down the stairs.

 

   “Honestly Katniss, you couldn't be more hurtful if you tried,” she says absentmindedly, searching her purse for her keys.

 

   I turn on her suddenly, all of my nerves, which were already pulled taut, snap at once in a white, hot rage. “I was trying.” I spit and I see my words hit their mark as her skin pales for a moment and her face goes blank.

 

   “I know you're hurt but-”

 

   “But what?” I ask, staring at her from across the lawn.

 

   “There is no need to be so cruel.” I roll my eyes but don't say anything and she drives me to school in relative silence. I don't even say goodbye when she pulls up to the brick school building, just slam the car door and run up the steps, ignoring the looks from a group of girls near the front door and their whispers.

 

   I decide to handle the new school the way I do everything else. Angrily, I fling the heavy wood front door open and stomp through the hall.

 

   When I finally find the classroom I am ten minutes late and the teacher already looks unimpressed with me. He circles me like a wolf when I sit down in the one hard-backed chair in the middle of the room. I feel my chin jut out stubbornly.

 

   The guy is ancient, and the walls are peppered with yellowed pages of music. Books are stacked all over, a piano is gathering dust in the corner of the room. It smells like mildew in here and I breathe out my mouth to make it a little more bearable.

 

   “You must be Mr. Cohen.”

 

   “Shhhhh,” he says in a heavy accent that I can't place. “I am Cinna.” He says simply.

 

   “I'm Katniss,” I say somewhat awkwardly.

 

   “You can play, ja?” the man asks. I think he might be German.

 

   “Ja,” I say back, biting my lip.

 

   “Then play.” He gestures around him to the many instruments that line the walls, the piano, a few guitars, a violin, a clarinet, two saxophones. Before Prim died I'd be positively dizzy with greed to get my hands on one of them.

 

   I feel my pulse quicken.

 

   “I don't play anymore.”

 

   He removes his glasses and cleans them on the front of his shirt. “You played once, ja?”

 

   “Yeah.” I shrug.

   He leans forward until his face is inches from mine, his wrinkled eyebrows look stern and I shift awkwardly in my seat under his gaze. “Then you can play again? Like riding a bike.” I don't respond and his eyes soften.

 

   “They tell me your sister died.”

 

   I can't speak so I nod.

 

   “Grief is hard, ja,” he says more to himself than me. “Closure is something you Americans say.” He shakes his head as if disappointed. “But it doesn't exist.”

 

   I feel something in my chest twinge painfully at his words. He takes a seat at his desk, I'm not sure if his chair groans or his bones.

 

   “When you feel ready, we play.” He says simply, opening a newspaper and ignoring me the rest of our hour of class.

 

   I sit back in my chair feeling so relieved I could scream.

 

   I make it through my classes in relative silence, trying my best to hide in my seat. I ignore the sideways glances and smirks from the students in Biology, Calculus and World Religions.

 

   Then it's lunch and I am standing in a cafeteria filled with strangers, every table full of kids yelling, smirking, happy, the exact opposite of me. I shift my weight from foot to foot when I see it. Someone waving me over, calling my name.

 

   I can only see blonde curls and it's enough for me to turn around quickly and dart from the room. I find a quiet spot in the hallway near the girl's locker room and eat my turkey sandwich on the stairs, my side pressed as far as it will go into the wall as if I am trying to mold myself into the stucco.

   

   

  I guess Prep school isn’t so different from the rest of my life.

XX.XX

   There is a blue box on my bed when I get home. It sits on my pillow and for a moment I examine it as my bag slides down my shoulder. It's small and accented in white. The word Mellark's is scrawled in loopy lettering on the top.

 

   I slide my feet across the room and crack the top of the box open, peeking in uncertainty. It's a cupcake, chocolate with spring green frosting and a bright yellow flower on the top. I sigh, sitting heavily and setting the box on my lap.

 

   Effie must have gotten it for me after she dropped me off at school. I feel a twinge in my gut, all I have done since arriving here is give her grief, but it's not her fault that I am here, it's not her fault my mom is sick or Prim is dead.

 

   “Effie!” I call, not giving myself a chance to back out.

 

   Effie comes around the corner, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms over her garish pink dress.

 

   “Yes, Katniss,” she says innocently, her pale pink lips barely moving.

 

   “Thank you.” I grit out from clenched teeth.

 

   “For what?” her eyes widen and her lips quirk slightly.

 

   I'm feeling annoyed now. “For the cupcake.” I sigh, already regretting my half-assed thank you.

 

   “You're welcome.” She says with a smile and shuts the door behind her quietly. Leaving me alone in the room with only the cupcake for company.

 

XX.XX

   

  I end up in a dive bar near the beach, named ‘The Office’. The bar is crowded, people packed like sardines around the pool tables and a worn out couch stained with something that looks like vomit. It's a sawdust on the floor type of place, as in I can smell it permeating the walls, along with the rich, heady smell of hops and barley. I hang at the edge of the room, looking at the crowd uncertainly.

 

   Then I push through the throng of people, so grateful for my anonymous status in this town. I pull the id from my pocket and order a beer, and the bartender is so busy talking to a blonde woman that he barely spares it a glance and I have my Sierra Nevada without question of my age.

 

   I guess being practically invisible has its perks.

 

   I shove my way through the crowd and find a spot on the porch, leaning against a railing and gulping the cool, foamy beer down as quickly as I can. Finally, I pause, feeling warm. Inside the music swells and I fight the urge to clamp my hands down over my ears. Instead, I sip my beer and look up at the sky, awash in moonlight.

 

   Someone has put on something fast, Flogging Molly maybe? Something I would dance to back before my sister died. I lean all my weight against the railing and sigh, my eyes sliding shut. I take another swig of my beer until my stomach is pleasantly warm.

 

   Something tugs on my braid and I whirl around, I am face to face with a boy, I recognize him from school, dark hair and dishwater eyes. I can't seem to recall his name.

 

   “Hi.” He says with a smile. I feel my eyes roll back in my head as I turn back toward the parking lot.

 

   He clears his throat and tries again.

 

   “I'm Marvel.” I can feel his smarmy smile even with my back turned. “You're Katniss, right?”

 

   I ignore him completely, which doesn't stop him from leaning against the railing next to me, watching me with those dull, gray eyes.

 

   I haven't realized that the ring that I keep around my neck has come out from my shirt and hangs glinting in the moonlight. He reaches out carefully to grasp it, trying to read the inscription, his eyes narrowing in the dark. I step away from him and it slips from his grasp.

 

   “Don't touch.” I snap.

 

   “Easy, Katniss.” He says with a toothy smile. He leans in so close to me I can smell the sour scent of whiskey on his breath. I feel a snarl bubbling up from my stomach, my lips curling into a sneer as open my mouth to rip into him.

 

   “Hey Marvel, here you are!” Someone is moving through the crowd towards us when I see the curls I heave out a breath. It's not unhappy, but it isn't grateful at the same time.

 

   Marvel leans back smiling at Peeta, swaying slightly. I take another drink from my beer and duck through the crowd, hope neither boy would notice my absence. Seems I'm unlucky as ever because Marvel immediately calls my name.

 

   “What are you doing, dude?” I hear Peeta asking him and I can't help the slight smirk that ghosts over my lips.

   

   “Just wanted to talk to the girl in the tight pants,” he says, his words slurring together.

 

   “ You're a total dick.” Peeta seems to have taken the words right out of my mouth.  

  

   “What? It's not illegal to talk to pretty girls.” He turns back to me, grinning wolfishly.

 

   “What's your story, sweetness?” He tilts his head downward, so I am forced to take a step back. I bump into someone behind me, their drink sloshes down the back of my jacket and I curse loudly but I don't take my eyes off the boy in front of me. There is something dark in his eyes, in his words and if living in a place like the seam has taught me anything it's that you don't take your eyes off the predator in front of you.

   

   Something ghosts over Peeta's face, his face scrunches so slightly it's hardly noticeable. He maneuvers his shoulder subtly so Marvel would have to push past him to press on me.

 

   “Sorry,” I say with a slight smirk. “That’s a long one, and unfortunately for you, I'm not the talking type.” I turn but he catches my wrist in his hand and wrenches me to a stop.

 

   “What did I say about touching me!” I shout, shoving him away. He gives me a Cheshire cat smile that sends my feet skittering backward.

 

   “Easy, Tiger,”

 

   “Fuck off,” I shout, a few people around us turn to stare and I feel my face flush with anger, my lips curling back from my teeth. It's like someone has flipped a switch in Peeta's eyes, normally easygoing, have gone stormy. His lips, usually curled into a half smile are twisted downward, the tops of his ears have gone pink.

 

   “You're battery acid, aren't you tiger?” Marvel says with a smile, not noticing the change in his friend next to him.

 

   He's right though, his words hit me square in the chest. I'm bitter, caustic and cold. This boy sees it in me, I wonder if Peeta does too?

 

   Peeta has grabbed Marvel by the arm, his fingers bloodless with how tightly he's holding him. When he speaks I am surprised at how placid his voice is, how careless he sounds.

 

   “Why don't you take a walk, Marvel?”

 

   “But-”

 

   “I hear Glimmer Darcy is here somewhere.”

 

   “Really?” Marvel looks around bewildered before wandering off, apparently forgetting all about me. Peeta watches him hawkishly until he disappears into the crowd.

 

   “Sorry, he's a total douche,” Peeta says softly, his ears going pink again.

 

   “Why were you hanging out with him then?” I snort, taking a swig of my now warm beer.

 

   Peeta scratches the back of his neck, looking out at the dark parking lot and the line of pines and ferns beyond. “I wasn't, I was working, but I saw him approaching, thought I would intervene before he took things too far and got himself hit.”

 

   “I don't need your help.” I snap.

 

   “Oh, believe me, I know,” he says, his cheeks pink.

   “So you sicked him on another girl?” I snarl, my feet shuffling forward.

 

   “No, well,” He looks almost scared. “She isn't actually here,” he licks his lips and my eyes flit down, watching the movement. “ He'll be looking for her all night.” He shrugs. I deflate.

 

   “So you work here?” I say skeptically.

 

   “It's, ah, it's my brother's place, I help him out from time to time.” He nods as we fall into an extremely uncomfortable silence. I want nothing more than to slink away through the crowd and inspect the damage done to my father's jacket. I don't though, my feet are rooted to the ground, my eyes darting anywhere but the blue-eyed storm in front of me.

 

   Why?

 

   “I think I'm going to go,” I say matter-of-factly, refusing to look at him.

 

   “Alright,” Peeta says, he makes no attempt to move either and the silence drags on.

 

   It's been mere seconds but they feel like hours, neither of us making a move to leave, finally, Peeta clears his throat.

 

   “Would you like a ride home?” He asks and I nod even though everything in me is saying not to.

 

   He gives me this smile, soft and shy with a touch of slyness and I find something inside of me withering. Why can’t he see?  I don't deserve a smile like that. I _am_ an acid girl, and I will erode away everything. Until what?

 

Until nothing remains.

 

“I'll go get my keys.” He says, “Stay right here.” I nod, drinking down the last few drops of warm beer as he turns and pushes through the crowd. I watch him disappear behind the door. I set my beer bottle on the railing.

 

I could leave now before he gets back.

 

Or I could stay and kill him too.

 

   I don't feel my feet move, but the gravel under my feet crunches and I know that I am running, only when the lights from the bar have faded behind me do I slow, my lungs aching. The air is cool and astringent and I can see the town glittering in the distance, somewhere far off I can hear waves lapping against the shore. It almost feels serene for a moment.

 

   Then I catch sight of her, in the distance, perched on a guardrail.

 

   “Prim?” I say softly. She smiles. Headlights are cutting through the dark and I vaguely realize I'm standing in the middle of the road. I don't move, all I can think is her smile is something else, it always was.

 

   The car behind me parks on the shoulder of the road. Dust flying out from the tires and I am drenched in light, but I don't take my eyes off of her. She'll disappear and I don't want that. I want her back. My chest aches with it, a throbbing pain that never really ebbs.

 

   _“Katniss, it hurts.”_ Her voice is nothing more than a whisper.

 

Something inside of me dies at the sound of her voice. A door slam, then there is another voice ringing out through the night.

 

“Katniss,” Peeta says my name like I am a small child. “You should probably get out of the road.”

 

   I feel my lips curl, something cruel on my lips but I don't dare speak, I don't dare move my eyes.  Prim looks away from me, her braids swinging. I try to wheeze in any air I can.

 

“No seriously,” Peeta insisted from somewhere behind me. “It’s a blind curve, get out of the road.”

 

   “Quit being so bossy.” I snap.

 

   Then he is standing shoulder to shoulder with me. His body is warm and I wonder if he'd be soft to my touch. I don't dare reach for him because that heat might melt me, and I am trembling at the sight of my sister looking so whole and beautiful, illuminated in headlights once again.

 

   “Prim,” I whisper, low and hoarse.

 

   “Prim?” Peeta echoes back at me in a quizzical voice. Something pops inside of me at the sound of her name on his lips. I turn to stare at him and I find him looking at me, not like the acid-girl at the bar but something tender and vulnerable, something to be protected, coveted even. Something I could never be.

 

Whatever he thinks of me, it’s a lie.

 

I turn back to where my sister was just sitting.

 

She’s gone now.

 

I feel my chin start to quiver but I bite my cheek until I taste blood. I won’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  .

      “Come on, I'll take you home.” He says softly and his hand rests on my shoulder for a moment. I want to howl at him but the beer has soured in my stomach and I feel so tired I fear I might collapse in the road so I let him lead me back to his truck.

 

   He says nothing as he climbs into the driver's seat and pulls back onto the road. His eyes stay on the road as I curl myself into the cool leather, only when the silence has become unbearable does he clear his throat.

 

   “Katniss, can I ask you something?”

 

   “No,” I say, horror-stricken and still in a haze.

 

   “Well, I am going to ask you anyway, answer if you'd like.”

 

   I feel my stomach swoop then seize. He shifts in his seat slightly and the movement catches my eye. He keeps his eyes set steadfastly forward.

 

   “What's your favorite color?” he asks in a serious tone.

 

   I let out the breath I was holding. A small laugh erupting from my chest, the relief washing over me. He flashes a smile at me, all white teeth, his eyes bright with mischief.

 

   “Green.” I snort. Setting my face into a casual mask. Careful to keep from flashing a smile of my own.

 

   “Green is nice.” He agrees.

 

   There is a long, pregnant pause. “What's yours?” I ask finally, my voice betraying me, sounding somewhat timid.

 

   “Mine's orange.” He says resolutely.

 

   “Makes sense,” I say, thinking of the sunrise he took me to.

 

   He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Whose Prim?” he asks carefully, perhaps he was lulled into a sense of security by my laugh, I feel myself bristle. How dare he ask about her. She’s mine alone. Her memory is all I have left.

 

   “None of your fucking business.” I practically snarl.

 

   “Fair enough.” He sighs.

 

   “Okay, what's your favorite movie?” he asks, his eyes darting towards me, then back to the road.

 

   But my jaw is clenched at the thought of my sister and I don't speak the rest of the ride back to Haymitch's.

 

   Slowly the drive relaxes my muscles and I feel slightly bad for snapping at Peeta, it was an innocent question. It isn't his fault I am like this, just like with Effie I feel guilt eroding the lining of my stomach, so after I have climbed out of the truck I pause.

 

   “Everything okay?” he asks I look up at him and almost answer honestly. No, nothing is alright, my sister was murdered and my mother is catatonic and I blame my best friend but not nearly as much as I blame myself. Instead, I shift my weight from foot to foot.

 

   “Willy Wonka and the chocolate factory.” I blurt out, feeling my face flush.

 

   “Huh?” Peeta says.

 

   “My favorite movie,” I explain, chewing on my fingernail.

 

   He smiles that shy smile again. “ I would never have guessed.” he smiles again. “Why?” He asks.

 

   “My dad took me to a midnight showing at a theater downtown once,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders and leaving out the part where he died a week later.

 

   “ Your father has good taste, I love Gene Wilder,” Peeta says and I shut the door softly. He waits until I’ve opened the door before his truck wheezes away from the curb and I watch his tail lights fade into the velvet of night, my fingers twisted in the material of my sweater.

 

XX.XX

   

   I stand uncertainly at the mouth of the cafeteria, looking at the student body like they are sharks in the waves, clutching my brown bagged lunch against my stomach and twisting my head searching for blonde curls in the sea of drab gray uniforms. I don't see Peeta anywhere, I could have sworn I saw him today in the halls between third and fourth period, talking to a girl with dark spiky hair. I turn in a slow circle, twisting my braid between my fingers. It was a bad idea anyway.

 

   Maybe he left campus for lunch, I sigh and turn, beginning my slow march toward the stairs where I have eaten every day this week. The halls are littered with banners for the homecoming dance, I run my fingers across the thick construction paper, not really feeling anything, my mind a million miles away.

 

   I stop in the middle of the hall, my feet refusing to move an inch more.

 

   There sitting on the stairs is Peeta Mellark, eating an apple with his nose stuck in a textbook. I could turn and run, he hasn't noticed me at all. I could duck into the nearest doorway, wait for him to give up and leave. My heart is stuttering hopelessly in my chest and my feet feel like lead, I don't move, I don't say anything, just stare at the back of his head.

   Finally, I make my feet inch forward until I am right behind him. I clear my throat and he starts, putting his book aside and giving me a lopsided grin. “I hope I am not intruding but I needed to get some studying in, seems like a quiet place.”

 

   “It is,” I say numbly.

 

   “Perfect,” He smiles.

 

   I sit next to him, my stomach doing somersaults. How does he do that? Is he trying to mix everything up inside of me? Is this a joke? I find myself staring without really saying anything. He turns back to his book, effectively leaving me alone. I unpack my lunch and take a small swallow of my turkey sandwich, watching him with suspicious eyes.

 

   If he finds my staring rude he has the good graces not to say anything. He just reads his book and I take timid bites of my sandwich. After I look away I still find myself trying to watch him through my peripheral vision. He smiles but doesn't move his eyes from the book.

 

   “What are you reading?” I finally ask when the silence is too much.

 

   “Norse Mythology.” He says simply from between bites of his apple.

 

   “Oh,” I say, staring at my hands.

 

   The bell rings and he slips his book back into his knapsack. “Thanks for having lunch with me.” He says and I shrug, it's not like I had much of a choice I keep quiet about looking for him in the cafeteria.

 

   I move through the rest of my day in a fog, barely listening to the teacher's drone on about things I don't care about. When the final bell rings I step outside to find a beautiful day, cool with an endless blue sky, the smell of the sea that never really goes away feels inviting and open.

 

   Kids push passed me eager to soak up the last bits of sunlight holding on for dear life. I'd be angry but I am too busy looking up at that sky, so deep blue it casts a shadow on every other color, even the deep forest greens, and buttery sunlight.

 

   “Katniss!”

 

   Of course, it's Peeta, leaning on the hood of his truck, his shirt untucked from his slacks, his hair sticking up in a thousand different directions. He jingles his keys in his hands. “Need a ride?” Shouting over the sounds of kids yelling and engines revving and I shake my head.\

 

   “You walkin'?” He asks, cocking his head to the side and I nod.  “Mind if I walk with you?” A few people have stopped to stare at our shouted conversation and I glare at a girl with golden curls, she sneers at me but keeps walking, sniggering under her hand to her friend.

 

   “Why would you do that?” I say, feeling cross, more people are staring and I feel heat rush to my cheeks. “You have a perfectly good truck.”

 

   “Eh, I could take it or leave it.” I feel my eyes roll up in the back of my head. “Besides, old Berta here isn't very good company.”

 

   “I'm not going home,” I say firmly. “So- so bye." I blurt awkwardly.

 

   “Where are you going then?”

 

   “To the beach.” I snap back, turning away. I can hear his heavy footfalls behind me and I huff out a breath.

 

   “What a coincidence,” He says, quickening his pace to catch up. “That's where I am headed too.”

 

   I could argue, I'm sure he would leave, but. I slow my steps so he can catch up. We fall into that silence again, he shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at his feet while he walks. He seems content in the quiet so I make no move to start a conversation.

 

   The beach waits right where I left it, waves rolling in, breaking white against the sand. I drop my bag near a tree and pull my shoes off. Wriggling my toes in the soft sand. Peeta stands a few feet off, watching me with amusement.

 

   “They don't have many beaches where you're from?” He asks, his voice gruff.

 

   “No,” I say softly.

 

   “They look good on you,” he says softly. I turn to look at him, wondering how he can see right into me like that. It feels like he's cutting me to the quick and letting me breathe at the same time, I don't hate it, but I don't like it either.

 

   “My uncle says I should stay away from you,” I accuse suddenly, not sure if I am trying to pry or remind myself. He seems interested in his shoes all of a sudden. “Why would he say that?” I demand. His eyes cast toward the ocean.

 

   “Funny, I always thought Haymitch liked me.” He bites his lip and swallows thickly.

 

   “He does,” I say in a softer tone. “It's me he doesn't like.”

 

   I fall into the sand, gripping handfuls of it and watching it leak from my fist. He sits next to me, his flannel billowing in the breeze. “I made a mistake,” he says softly. Why do all of my muscles clench at the pain lancing his voice?. This is a wholly new feeling for me. I don’t care about boys, they’re means to an end. A way to hold the misery at bay. A way to forget for a moment that my life is utterly fucked.

 

Why do I have the sudden urge to press his lips to mine?

 

   Can he hear my pulse thrumming? Can he feel this pulsing electricity between us? He must, I wasn't the only one at the street fair that day. I wasn't the only one staring hopelessly.

 

   “I've made a few myself,” I say with a lame smile. He smiles back all white teeth. His skin is pale with cold, freckles like constellations, curls flying in the wind.

 

   He could swallow me whole.

   

   “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain.” He blurts. For a moment he seems aghast that he has said such a thing. He flushes and his eyes skip around desperate for a place to land. I hug my knees to my chest and run my fingernail down the seam of my jeans.  

 

What a stupid thing to say.

 

He watches the waves instead of me and without him watching me its easier to knit my eyebrows together and rake my fingernails through the sand. Annoyed with his tone. Annoyed with the way his curls catch the wind, the way my heart skips a beat.

   “You don't know anything about me.” my voice is a harsh whisper.

 

   “I want to.”

 

   That’s what scares me.

 

   “Too bad.” I grind my knuckles into the ground, wincing as the cut in my palm stretches painfully. Something about the pain brings me back, keeps me here when I feel like I might float away on the wind, down the beach and out to sea.

 

   “You don’t want to talk,” he says softly. “That’s alright.” His eyes are watching me now, I shift under his gaze.

   

   We go back to the parking lot and retrieve his truck, it grumbles down the street passing houses with white picket fences and people out walking their dogs and when he turns onto my street and parks we both sit there waiting for the other to move. Effie steps out the door and watches us with her hands on her hips.

 

   “If I showed up tomorrow morning to give you a ride to school would you be here?” he rushes to get out, earning a small smile from me.

 

   “Maybe,” I say, my stomach swooping.

 

   “Then Maybe, _Maybe_.” He emphasizes with a crooked grin. “I'll be here.”

 

   I climb down from the cab of the truck, smirking at him. “You're so stupid.” I blurt dumbly, feeling my face flush.

 

   “I can live with stupid.” He says as I shut the door. He doesn't drive off until I climb the steps, ignoring Effie's scowl as I pass her by without a word, shutting the door behind me. The house smells like thyme and garlic and I breathe in heavily. There was a time when my house smelled like this, back when my mother still cooked. I didn't realize how much I missed it, for years my house just smelled like sadness.

 

   Effie bursts through the door and I immediately sprint up the stairs, my backpack swinging at my hip. She pauses at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me.

 

   “You're playing with fire.” she rushes to get out before I disappear. I turn to face her. “That boy is no good, despite what your uncle says.”

 

   Did she ever pause to think maybe he was the one playing with fire?

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I almost pass the flowers sitting on the railing in my haste to get through the door. A small bundle of yellow weeds tied together with what looks like a piece of a shoelace.

  
**A rapid bolt will rend the clouds apart,**  
 **and every single White be seared by wounds.**  
 **I tell you this. I want it all to hurt.”**  
 **― Dante Alighieri, Inferno**  


**Chapter 5**

_Early April brought torrential rain and battering winds, so violent they knocked branches down from trees and knocked shingles from rooftops, but this early Saturday morning I have woken to bright, endless blue skies and white cottony clouds, green grass in the yard and sun evaporating the last of the puddles from the street._

_I race down the stairs, pulling an old hoodie on over my pajama shirt and shoving my feet in flip-flops next to the door. I ignore my mother calling me for breakfast and throw open the door with a grin. Standing on the porch is Gale Hawthorne, tall and lean, in an old backward baseball cap and a worn out shirt that belongs to his father._

_“Hey Catnip.” He says with a lopsided grin._

_My mother calls me from the kitchen but I ignore her. I shut the door behind me and sit on the porch steps, Gale follows, the old wood sighing heavily with his weight._

_“What do you want to do today?” He asks, shoving a hostess doughnut in his mouth as I shrug. He passes me a doughnut and I cram the whole thing into my mouth, powdered sugar all over my fingers._

_Gale is twelve a whole year older than me and already almost as tall as his dad. He leans back and surveys the sun. “We could go to Kennedy park?” He suggests and I nod, my eyes surveying the street which is remarkably quiet on a Saturday morning. My father's car is parked in the driveway, the hood was thrown up, garage door open, but he's nowhere to be found._

_“Sound good?” Gale asks, snapping in front of my face to get my attention._

_“Yeah,” I say, “Just got to tell my mom.”_

_I change quickly and give Prim a quick kiss on the top of the head. Mom insists on me taking an English muffin with me, I roll my eyes at her but take it anyway, as she kisses me on the forehead._

_“Be home for lunch.” She says._

_“Fine,” I say, crossing my eyes so Prim will laugh that infectious little laugh of hers and I am out the door, down the steps and standing in the yard. Gale sits on his bike and I have to run to catch up to him. He finally stops so I can hop up on the handlebars._

_I don't remember what we did at the park that day, but I do remember the feeling of the wind on my face, the sun beating against my shirt and Gale, smelling clean like soap, and his cheek pressed against my shoulder, standing on the pedals, laughing at something I've said._

_After months of storms, they had finally passed, leaving everything warm and sweet and tinged with hope, and I was here with Gale, and we'd always have each other, no matter what._

_I will always be his, and he will always be mine._

_Whatever happens, we'll always be friends._

       XX.XX

    Weeks crawl by slowly, the sky grows darker earlier and I find myself in a simple routine, school, work, homework, sleep, eat, wash, rinse, repeat. I find myself dragging myself through days and falling into sleep earlier and earlier, always tumultuous, always wrought with nightmares of my sister being pulled into the mist, and me, helpless to stop it.

   I wake every morning and lay in bed, my sheets pulled tight over my shoulder and I listen to the quiet from beyond my window, straining to hear my mother's voice, singing out of tune. It's never there and my stomach twists painfully at the silence.

   Each day I feel myself slipping away. Soon it will be like I was never here at all.

   

   On this particular day, its raining, fat droplets running down the windowpane lazily and I watch them until I have no choice but to stand. I dress in my uniform and sit in the kitchen with a cup of tea to wait for Peeta's ancient truck to sputter up to the curb.

   Haymitch comes in with a cup of steaming, black coffee and appraises me with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

   “Mornin' kid.” He says gruffly and I stare at my fingernails saying nothing to him.

   “Dr. Aurelius called,” I bite my lip and force my face into a controlled mask. “Says your Mom is doing a lot better, she's talking and even going to group therapy.”

   I suck in a breath, waiting for the blow.

   “Says you can call her if you like,” The words catch me under the ribs like a punch and my mask slips for a moment. “I'm sure it would be good for her to hear your voice.”

   I don't think so Haymitch, I think. It would remind her of what she's lost. And what about me? Is it good for me?

   I think of my mother curled up on the grass of our front yard, my father desperately trying to reach her. I think of her scarlet lipstick smeared across her cheek. How she'd scream at ghosts that weren't there. How the visions of my sister are becoming more frequent if Haymitch knew he'd lock me away right next to her.

   “Maybe,” I say.

   “Think about it kid.”

   And then for the moment, I am saved by the wheeze of Peeta's truck as he taps on the horn gently.

   “Gotta go,” I say, scooping up my bag and setting my cup in the sink.

   “Katniss.” Haymitch snorts, trying to gain my attention.

   “I'm going to be late.” I insist, slamming the back door behind me.

   By the time I reach Peeta's truck I'm soaked through, my braid sticking to my neck, rain trickling down my nose. Peeta laughs at me and I feel that thing that was throbbing in my chest ease at the sound. I'm not sure why, but his laugh has a way of doing that to me.

   “Morning.” He says with a yawn, as he does every morning, and passes me a bagel topped with baked cheese.

   I pull it apart with my fingers and shove a small piece into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

   Most mornings he'll ask me harmless questions, what's my favorite book? What's my favorite sound? Today he is oddly quiet, and I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out why.

   He turns down a street and his eyebrows knit together.

   “What are you looking at?” He says in a light voice, finally looking at me.

   I gasp.

   “Peeta what happened to your face?” A marring, purple bruise shadows the underbelly of his eye. For a moment he bites his lip, eyes flitting between the windshield and my face.

   “Ah, would you believe me if I said I walked into a door?” He asks with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

   “No.”

   “Didn't think so.” He mumbles but falls silent.

   “Peeta,” I say, something hard creeping into my voice.

   “Katniss,” He says mimicking my tone. “It doesn't matter.” and he pulls into the parking lot of the school. I pause, unsure of what to do, I almost spill all my thoughts to him, I almost tell him everything that I've felt for the past year, about my mother, my sister, how it was all my fault. I don't though, I just keep quiet, like usual, my hands fluttering out for a moment, unsure of what to do.

   “Katniss, you'll be late for music.” He says softly, his blue eyes locked on the steering wheel.

   “Peeta.”

   “You should get going.” He says again, his voice hard but not quite unkind.

   “You're not coming?” I ask.

   “I'll be back soon, just have.” He pauses as if trying to find the words. “An appointment to keep.”

   He's full of shit and I open my mouth to tell him that but the first bell rings. “Go on,” He says with a bland smile.

   With an unsteady breath, I climb out of the truck and into the rain. He waves through the water on the windshield and his truck groans out of sight.

   He leaves me watching him retreat, my eyes squinting through the rain as if I could figure him out from here as if his taillights could tell me the truth about the boy with the blue eyes.

   I trudge into music with sloshing shoes and Cinna looks down his nose at me with disappointed eyes.

   “You're late.” He says.

   “Yeah, I can see the clock.” I bite out. Sitting in the hard-backed, offensive orange chair that has been placed in the middle of the room just for me. I fall into it and drop my bag on the floor with a heavy thud. I can think of nothing I would like less than to be bossed around by a pushy German today.

   “We play today?” he asks.

   “No.” I snap.

   He sighs, leaning against his desk. Looking as if I am a petulant child, and to him I probably am.

   “Why do we play?” He asks, removing his glasses and cleaning them on the edge of his shirt. I just stare at him and his out of date tweed jacket. He waits for me to answer patiently, but when I don't he answers himself, perching his glasses back on his nose.

   “We play for many reasons, but for people like you, people like me, we play to pour the pain out of our hearts, to lighten the pressure.”

   What does he mean? What kind of a person am I? What kind of a person is he? I open my mouth but snap it shut again, unsure of what to say.

   “I didn't play for many years.” He says simply.

   “What?” I say, my voice tight.

   “Hatred consumed me,” He says softly. “And nothing beautiful comes from that.”

   With that, he disappears behind his newspaper and leaves me alone to chew on his words for the rest of the hour.

   

XX.XX

   Peeta doesn't come back to school and I wait out in the rain falteringly, not sure if he'll show up or not and after a half hour, I am sure that he isn't coming and I begin to walk, certain that I am going to be wet and cold for the entire day, but as I reach the edge of the parking lot I see his truck waiting across the street.

   I pause before sloshing across the street. He waves as I climb up, shivering into the cab of his truck, dripping water all over the seats. “How was school?” He asks, but his eyes are dark and don't meet mine. I get an icy feeling in my gut. Something feels off.

   “Where have you been?” I accuse in a voice that pops and sizzles.

   “I told you I had a few appointments, ran a little late.”

   The bruise on his cheek is hidden from me, and his curls are soaked through, the scent of cloves and vanilla permeate the small space. I think he might be lying to me, or if not at least omitting something big. I realize just how little I know about him. So, I work out what I have learned about him. He takes his coffee black. He double knots his shoelaces. He's on the wrestling team but never wears his Letterman’s jacket. Girls giggle in his direction constantly but he never seems to notice. He has many friends, but he doesn't seem to be particularly close to them. He's kind to everyone and quick with a joke, but sometimes he seems like he's a million miles away.

   I must be staring because he laughs uncomfortably and looks out the window. I shake my head to clear it and wrap the seat belt around myself and look resolutely out the windshield, refusing to look at him. He has his secrets, that’s fine, I have my own, but it doesn't mean that I have to trust him, Maybe I shouldn't.

   

   “You feel like going home.”

   I should say yes, now that I have decided I can't trust him. I should climb out of his truck and walk home in the rain and chastise myself for almost letting him see inside of me. I feel a warm heat worming its way into my belly.

   “No, not really.” and there is a quiet pleading in my voice. Does he know that home is a thousand miles away? Does he know my mother is locked in a cage? I watched my sister bleed out on the concrete, helpless to stop it.

       

   “Alright.” He breathes out and I fidget in my seat, staring out the window. “How does the beach sound?” He asks me, a hopeful edge in his voice.

   “It's pouring, Peeta.” I snap.

   “Little rain never hurt anybody.” He says.

   “Fine,” I say through clenched teeth, though everything in my body is telling me not to, telling me to go home and forget about Peeta.

   He's going to hurt you, says a small voice inside of me. I curl my legs under me as the truck comes to life, vibrating under me.

   Why do you care? Whimpers another part of me. It's what you do best.

 

Hurt.

 

   Still, my face crumples slightly, as if I might cry. I don't, but I refuse to look at Peeta, even though I can feel him watching me.

   “Katniss, where have you gone?” He says, but it doesn't sound like him, it sounds far away, searching, tired. When we pull up to the bench I launch myself from the truck, my boots slipping in the sand and when I reach the waves I wonder if I could ever be brave enough to keep going, to run into the waves and disappear under the water, sink like a stone into the blackness.

   

   Maybe I already have.

   I hear my sister's voice in my head.

   _“They look like all the souls in heaven.”_

   But heaven is a place that doesn't exist, only the darkness she fell into when she died. Leaving me alone on a rock spinning through space, and the ocean stares at me with empty gray, slanted eyes and begs me to crawl inside it and sleep.

   “Katniss,” I turn to look at Peeta, who has followed me down the beach, curls soaked and falling into his face. “Come back.” He holds out his hand to me and I can't stop staring at the bruise that looks nastier in the cold. “Please.” A begging note has entered his voice.

    _Don't trust him_ . Implores the voice inside of me, you have so little left. _Hate him_. It demands in anger.

   After all, it's just a matter of time before he hates you. A matter of time before he learns the truth, that I killed my sister and I can't face my mother and the ghosts that echo from inside of her. That I came a thousand miles and the change of scenery did little, I'm still hanging off the edge, praying for the courage to jump.

   My hand twitches but I don't move, I just stare at him. His eyes look gray in the rain, the sky, the ocean, his eyes, just a dull sameness that does little to quell the heat building in my chest.

   I don't take his hand but I do as he asks, looking at the ocean longingly before shoving passed him and back toward the truck.

   He might melt something soft inside of me that I have tried so long to protect, but one thing is certain, I'll never trust those blue eyes, so capable of breaking that last bit of heat left inside of me. These past few weeks he has been working his way inside of me with jokes and smiles.

   It stops now.

   XX.XX

   “Can Katniss come out to play?” A voice says from the door and I know who it is before Effie moves out of the way to reveal him.

   “Katniss has homework, Finn.” Says Effie, smiling demurely at him.

   “Aw, you know what they say about all work and no play, Mrs. Abernathy.” She sighs and looks at me where I stand in the hallway, begging her with my eyes to tell him I am impossibly busy and that I cannot go out with him.

   “Katniss, you have a visitor,” she says.

   “I'm busy Finnick.” I snap.

   “With what?” He says pushing passed Effie and standing with his hands on his hips in the doorway.

   “Uh, homework,” I say weakly.

   “It's Saturday night.” He accuses. “What are you some kind of nerd?” He smiles brightly. “Besides, it's my birthday, and we're going out.”

   He looks at Effie with wide, innocent eyes. “For good clean fun, of course, no mischief in the least.”

   “Hmmm, very convincing Mr. Odair,” Effie says. “If you do go out be sure to be home by eleven, Katniss, I don't feel like listening to your uncle.”

   “Come on Kitty Kat.” Finnick winks. I sigh, I haven't been anywhere besides school or work in weeks, studiously avoiding Peeta and his truck. For three days I wait until his truck drives from the curb before dashing to school. The fourth day he got the hint and stopped trying to pick me up. I found a new corner to curl myself in at lunch. I work on scrubbing the boy from my life.

   Still, I find my ears perking at any mention of him, at the house or at school. I feel my pulse quicken when I catch sight of his curls in the hallway. I can pick him out in a crowd, standing with a group of kids, laughing easily.

   He doesn't try to find me and for that I am grateful. He leaves me alone for the most part, I still feel his eyes on the back of my head in the one class we have together. Sometimes I catch his eyes following me in the halls, with black, fat pupils.

   

   “I don't know Finnick.” I sigh.

   “Oh, Come on.” He pleads “Save me from the mediocrity of the middle class, you blackhearted little she-witch, you're the only interesting girl in town.”

   “Will Peeta be there?” I squeak out.

   “That I don't know.” He says and I huff out a breath.

   “Come on, Katniss,” He begs. “It'll be fun.”

   I look back upstairs toward my room longingly. “Oh for Pete sake's Katniss, just go, have fun.” Says Effie from behind me. “You've been locked in your room all week.”

   “I can't, I have a paper to write.”

   “It'll be there tomorrow.” She says.

   “Fine.” I grit out and Finnick smiles triumphantly.

   “You aren't wearing that are you?” He says in mocked horror.

   That's how I end up sitting on Finnick's porch in a floral shirt that doesn't go with my studded belt and boots. I have yet to step inside but someone has handed me a red cup filled with a punch that has the sharp, antiseptic taste of vodka. After a few swallows, a warmth spreads through my limbs and I feel somewhat content, sitting in the dark, listening to the waves. His house is right on the beach and I can almost make out the endless dunes of sand from the faint glow of the windows.

   Music plays from inside but the surf drowns it out. I am content to stay out here all night, hiding in the night, curled against the porch railing, looking up at the stars.

   But then the door opens and I inch back away from the light as if it might burn me if it touches my skin. My stomach drops when I hear his voice, mingled with a young girl's laugh. I catch sight of her, in ripped tights and a bright blue dress, a jean jacket that has a sex pistols patch on the back. She's laughing at something he's said. She reaches up and runs a hand through his curls. Peeta's thumb raises and he brushes something off of her cheek.

   I feel the punch sour in my stomach and I don't understand it, I gave up on him. I've been avoiding him all week. My muscles clench and my feet twitch, I want nothing more than to run down the steps and down the beach where the silence will envelop me and I can forget about blonde curls and what it might feel like if I ran my fingers through them, if they would be soft, like feather down beneath the weight of my hand.

   I swallow the rest of my drink quietly and fix my stare on the sand below me. Maybe I just need to get those curls and those blue eyes out of my system. Maybe I need something else to get my mind off him.

   It feels like hours before they disappear behind the door again and I stand, stretching out my stiff muscles. I wait for a while before going inside, until I am sure they are passed the threshold and somewhere where I can't see that girls smile.

   I am swallowed by a crowd. People shove into me as the music swells around me. Finnick is wearing one of those paper crowns from Burger King and is draped across a couch, a girl I vaguely recognize from work pressed against his chest.

   He calls to me but I ignore him, pushing my way through the people, heading for the tiny kitchen.

   “Need a refill?” A guy with red hair and a spattering of freckles asks me and I nod gratefully. He fills my cup with something he calls Jungle juice and laughs when my nose crinkles at the smell. He has straight white teeth that flash at me.

   He'll do.

   “What's your name?” He yells over the music.

   “Does it matter?” I ask, and for a moment he seems taken back, not sure what to say. “I can be Kat to you,” I say.

   “Alright, Kat.”

   I chug down my drink and ask for another. He refills my drink, for the first time I see a hint of uncertainty flash in his blue eyes.

 

I feel my heart slow to a flatline as I look into his eyes, the alcohol burning a path down my throat into my mostly empty stomach. The vodka hits me suddenly and my stomach twists. I set my cup on the counter and grip the edge as the room tilts. I drank too much, too fast. For a moment I know this is wrong, all of it.

 

But then I have an image of my sister writhing in pain and my eyes slide shut. I feel the sweat beading at my hairline, dripping down my neck. People laugh someone bumps into me. I see an image of a shoe on pavement.

 

 _“Katniss, it hurts.”_  

   “I'm Darius.” He says and my eyes snap open. Darius is watching me curiously, unaware that anything in me is amiss.

   “I didn't ask.” I wheeze, feeling like my lungs are about to burst from my chest.

   “Are you alright?” He asks as I scan the crowd when I am sure Peeta is nowhere around I grab Darius's hand and drag him through the crowd. His hand feels warm and clammy in mine and there is a pleasant humming in my head. I feel far away from my body like I am floating above the room, watching it from a cloud in the night sky. Just as we are crossing the beach I turn and see Peeta watching us carefully from the porch a red cup in each hand, his eyes dark with something I can't name. His face twisted with something, is it pain? When he catches me watching he turns and disappears back through the door. Dropping one cup on the railing. Was it meant for me? Or the blonde girl?

   I lead Darius out onto the beach and down to a log of driftwood far away from the lights and press my lips against his, he tastes like vodka and fruit. I tangle my fingers in his red hair and press his lips against mine harder. Until mine feels swollen and bruised. Until it hurts so bad I forget that my heart does.

   He breaks away from me, his eyes scanning me. “Are you sure?” He asks, breathless.

   The alcohol has left me wobbly and numb, I nod, pressing him against me. His arms circle my waist as I tangle myself around him. “You sure?” He asks again, making something violent rip through me.

   “I said it was,” I growl and it is all he needs, soon he is pressing me into the sand, his own fingers knotting into my braid. Too quickly my shirt has been pulled up and my pants yanked down and he's inside of me and panting in my ear. I feel myself go still as I stare up at the sky. Emptiness spreading through me like a stain.

   He grunts in my ear and it’s over, I feel the sticky heat leaking down my thighs. I turn and see my hand curled at my side. I take a shaky breath and it rattles in my chest. Darius is heavy on top of me for a moment, struggling to catch his breath, shifting so he doesn’t crush me. I never found what I was looking for when I brought him here. Everything sings inside of me, every nerve ending pulled tautly.

 

What have I done?

   Prim would be so ashamed of me.

   “Get out of here.” I snap.

   “Can I take you somewhere sometime?” he asks hopefully.

   “No.” I spit, feeling something clawing in my chest.

   “Are you okay?” He tries again, the truth is I am the farthest you can be from okay. It breaks the small little bit that has been holding me together.

   “I told you to leave,” I snarl “So leave.”

   And he does, quietly pulling up his pants and walking back up to the beach without another word. As soon as he is out of sight I collapse against the sand, hot moisture slipping from my eyes, even though I have clenched them shut as tight as I can. I beat my fists against the sand and rake my nails over my skin.

   What's wrong with me?

   I feel myself ball up as I sob myself out and when the tears have finally dried to salt on my skin I stand on quaking legs, I shake the sand from my tangled braid and grab my boots, trudging numbly up the beach. My heart in my throat, galloping uselessly.

   The party has seemed to die down. I must have been down at the beach for a while. I pass the house and drag myself to the street, my hair disheveled, my eyes stinging and red, my clothes disarrayed. I hardly notice when I pass Peeta's truck idling in the driveway, too focused on the shallow breath I am trying to take.

   “Katniss?”

   I jump about a foot in the air as Peeta sits up from where he was laying in the bed of his truck. “What?” I yell in his face. I want to tell him this is his fault, it's the reason I drug that boy out to the sand. I just wanted to forget his eyes and his skin and his golden curls. But that isn't really true, I mean it is in part, but I also wanted to forget myself, I wanted to forget how small Prim looked on the pavement, The hand dragging me away from her. The pool of blood that seeped from her as her body contorted unnaturally.

   I just wanted to forget.

   “Katniss?” he says quizzically, maybe only just now taking in my tangled hair, just as I only now take in the music tinkling lightly from his radio.

   “What are you doing?” I ask, softer now.

   “Listening to music.”

   I strain my ears to listen, it's a folk song, soft and sweet.

    _I'm sick of losing soul mates, so where do we begin?_ The girl singing asks.

   “Turn it off,” I beg, the hard wax I keep around my heart is melted too thin and it threatens to break me more than I have been broken. I shake my head against the pulse of the music. Wrenching my eyes shut as if its a bright light. A few seconds later the radio clicks off and I peek out at Peeta standing in front of me.

   He reaches out and so carefully as if he is scared to touch me pulls a twig from my hair and drops it to the ground.

   “Have a rough night?” he asks and I lean against his truck tiredly, my muscles aching from being clenched for so long.

   “I guess,” I mutter, staring at the sand that has been ingrained into the pavement.

   “Me too.” He says softly and I feel my head snap up in surprise.

   “What that girl you were with leave or something?” I struggle to keep my voice light. His eyebrows knit together and his head cocks to the side as he studies me.

   “Who? Delly?” He says almost incredulously. Something like amusement crosses his face. Glad he finds this funny.

   “I don't know, I guess.” I try to shrug.

   He laughs in my face. I feel my face burn with color.

   “Why do you care?” He asks suddenly, hopping up on the hood of his truck.

   “What?”

   “It's just you seem really upset that I was with Delly.”

   “I'm not.” I snap.

   “You're a Godawful liar.” I feel my blood boiling at his words.

   “I don't care,” I snarl.

   “I mean you've been avoiding me.”

   “I haven't.”

   “You totally have.” He accuses, pointing at me. “Then you get upset when I show up at a party with a different girl.”

   “I could care less who you fuck Peeta!” I shout my patience finally worn down. I feel myself wobbling on shaking legs, the stickiness between my legs feeling more pronounced. I just want to go home and forget this night ever happened

        I make the mistake of looking at Peeta, he looks like I have slapped him for a moment, before smoothing his face into a cool mask.

   “Is that what you were doing down the beach with that guy?” he asks, a hard edge I've never heard before creeping into his voice.

   “How dare you?” I spit in his face. He seems to appraise me once again with new eyes. My shirt that is twisted on my body awkwardly, my boots in my hand, my hair hanging in my face. Suddenly I feel like crying again, angry tears, hot with rage.

   “Katniss-” Something like pity has seeped into his voice. No, let him be mad, maybe even slightly jealous, don't let that pity creep in there.

   Don't let my heretic heart hear the soothing echo of his voice. I might crumble completely. “Katniss, I'm sorry.” He reaches out and touches me, his fingers brushing my shoulder. I cringe back away from him, fixing him with a hard stare.

   “Don't touch me,” I growl, my feet stepping back as I look around for an escape, any escape.

   I could go back to the party, but then Darius might be there. I could walk home but I have a sinking feeling Peeta might chase me down in his truck. I feel like a cornered animal, curled into a wall, snarling at the hunter in front of me.

   “Listen-”

   But I am not listening, I am walking away, back to the beach.

   Peeta follows me.

   “Where are you going? Come on, I'm sorry, I'll give you a ride home.”

   “Fuck you, Peeta.” I snarl.

   “Please, just-” He falters. “I didn't mean it, just don't leave,” He begs, breathless. He stops walking, just watches my back as I stomp away. “I thought you weren't like everyone else.” He says so softly I can hardly hear him.

   “That's the problem with thinking things about people, Peeta,” I say, not looking behind me. “They're never the idea you want them to be, especially me.”

   

   I walk home with my head down and my bare feet scraping the tarmac. My hair is sandy and body is sore and I want nothing more than to crawl beneath my sheets and disappear inside them. My hands are shaking violently. At some point, I stop walking and rip my jacket off my back so I can scream into it.

I am so stupid.

The words invade my head and stay there, playing over and over in my head like a song.

But time creeps on, and I don’t have much choice but to put one foot in front of the other.

   I finally reach my street and I shove my feet back into my boots, pulling my hair from its ragged braid and running my fingers through it several times to tame it. I almost pass the flowers sitting on the railing in my haste to get through the door. A small bundle of yellow weeds tied together with what looks like a piece of a shoelace. A note underneath them.

    _I'm sorry. -P._

   I look around, certain that he is watching me, but his truck is nowhere around, the house across the street is dark as the ones next to it. I want to leave them where they lay, or maybe drop them to the ground, crush them beneath my boots and leave their broken bodies on the steps for him to see. For some reason that I can't really work out in my head I don't, I do the opposite, I press them into my chest as I hurry through the door and pull my boots off.

   I crawl up the stairs and drop myself on the toilet tiredly to wait for my bathwater to fill up, I set the dandelions on the porcelain of the sink and hugging my knees to my chest as steam fills the room. I peel my clothes off my body and lower myself into the water, my skin stinging and red.

   Eventually the sand washes from my hair and skin, leaving a filmy sentiment at the bottom of the tub, and my aching muscles relax enough where I can stretch the stiffness from them, feeling worn thin I expect to cry more, I don't, I just hang on the edge of the tub watching the flowers wilt in the heat and steam. Wondering what it might take for me to do the same.

   

   With the stickiness and sand washed off my body, I feel somewhat better. I collapse in bed, pulling the sheets over me and pushing my face into my pillow. Suddenly I feel my skin crawling like a thousand bugs are skittering over my whole being. I stand and pace my room in an odd attempt to walk off this rabbit energy.

   Times like these I miss Gale, so much more than I thought I would. He would always have a joke ready, or at least an argument. That's why I walk despondently for the phone, just like I have so many times before, only I don't hang up at two rings, I press the receiver more firmly against my ear and twist the cord between my fingers.

   “Hello?” His voice is gruff like I woke him up. One second passes, then another.

   “Gale?” I am horrified to find my voice is thin as paper.

   “Oh my God,” He breathes out. “Katniss?”

   “Do you remember that time we went to Kennedy Park and you bought me peppermint ice cream and we swimming in the fountain, and you beat those boys at basketball?” I rush to get the words out. There is a long, aching silence stretching the hundreds of miles between us. I feel my face contorting, because he doesn't, he doesn't remember. This was stupid, I am stupid.

   “Where are you? Your house has been boarded up.”

   “Do you remember?” I demand because I need to know he remembers that day and how nice it was. I need to know he remembers me and how I wasn't always this mess of bones and emptiness.

   Another long stretch of quiet.

   “Yeah, I remember.” I was so scared he had forgotten, about that day, about me.

   “It was a good day,” I say with a weak smile.

   “Yeah,” I can hear his smile on the other side. “It was.”

   I knot the cord of the phone around my wrist, staring at the grain of the wood on the table.

   “Where have you been?” he asks.

   “California.”

   “Cali huh.” I can hear the roughness in his voice. “With your uncle?”

   “Yeah,” I say, the pit of my stomach twisting.

   “They aren't making you eat kale are they?” I laugh, a giddiness that only Gale can produce in me.

   “No,” I say. “I've been blessedly kale-less.”

   “Where is your Mom?”

   “Hospital,” I say quickly, hoping he'll leave it at that.

   “Katniss, she's not at Hartford is she?”

   Hartford is the state hospital off the freeway, I shake my head even though he can't hear it.

   “Meadowbrook.” Why do they give mental hospitals such hopeful, cheerful names? It should be illegal to name it anything than what it is, antiseptic hell.

   “Your Uncle spared no expense, huh? Where was he when your Mom first went nuts? He owes you at least a flatscreen.” He's joking but a hard edge is in his voice, one I've heard so many times. It does something funny to my heart, stuttering in my chest slowly at his words.

   “I should go,” I say softly.

   “Yeah.”

   “Sorry for calling so late,” I say, feeling farther away from him than ever.

   “Call me again, okay?”

   That silence again, stretching out forever, tasting stale. “Okay,” I say lamely.

   “I mean it Katniss.” He says, sounding annoyed. “I've missed you.”

   “I said I would.” I snap back.

   “Fine.” He says sharply.

   “Fine.” I echo back.

   I move to slam the phone down but I pause, I hadn't meant for it to end like that. I have missed Gale something terrible and I yank the receiver back up to my ear. “I'm sor-” but the line has already gone dead. Until there isn’t anything left to do but set the receiver back down on the cradle gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song playing in Peeta's truck is Sick of Losing Soulmates by Dodie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this moment I realize that something is happening to me, and I don't want it to, but I am helpless to stop it. There is now a before and an after, a was and a will be, and from this point on, I will never be the same person as I was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, two chapters in one morning! it's too much but I got so excited, this was my favorite chapter to write and I just couldn't help myself! I have to say thank you to my Pre-reader Shannon for all of her wisdom and encouragement. She really is an amazing human being. 
> 
> Thank you all for every kind comment and kudo, they mean the world to me. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

 

 

 

**“And we came forth to contemplate the stars.”  
― Dante Alighieri**

**Chapter 6**

_ A howling, white storm is raging outside, but in our living room a pleasant little fire is crackling in the wood stove and Prim is in my lap, her eyes glued to the television screen watching a cartoon cat chase a mouse as I braid her hair and sing along with the radio. _

_ Here comes the sun. _

_ Here comes the sun. _

_ and I'd say, It's alright. _

_ My fingers move clumsily as I pull the braid tighter. My father is due home tonight from his hunting trip and Mom has let us stay up to wait for him. Prim is in her pink nightgown, clutching her teddy bear to her stomach and giggling. My mother is bustling in the kitchen, a pot roast Julia Child would envy in the oven filling the room with the thick, rich smell of cooking meat. _

_ Little darlin' _

_ It seems like years since it's been here. _

_ Here comes the sun. _

_ Prim leans against me and her hair smells clean, like shampoo. I tickle her side and she giggles sweetly, in a way only she can. Then someone raps on the door and she jumps a little, her arms going around my neck. _

_ The radio clicks off and my mother wipes her hands on her apron as she swings the door open. I can't see who is standing at the door, but I see my mother's face fall. _

_ “Mrs. Everdeen?” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ Something in my mother's voice has caught my attention. Her voice warbles and her hands are starting to shake. _

_ “There's been an accident.” _

_ I feel my hand grasp at Prim's wildly as my mother knits her eyebrows. My heart is sinking into my stomach. _

_ “An accident?” My mother echoes in a dead voice as I move around the door to see a sheriff standing in the doorway, hat in hand. _

_ “Katniss?” Prim asks and I clutch her hand tighter. _

_ “Hush,” I demand of her. _

_ “Ow, let go.” She grumbles, but I can't because it seems like the only thing keeping me grounded to earth. _

_ “Prim, I said hush.” I scold. _

_ “Your Husband.” The officer's voice trails off. “ A car lost visibility and cut across to his lane, he swerved to avoid them... The car hit a tree and I'm sorry, Miss Everdeen, he's gone.” _

_ Gone? _

_ What does that even mean? _

_ “Katniss?” Prim's voice sounds frantic. “Katniss, where's Daddy?” _

_ But my mother has slumped against the officer and he reaches out to catch her as she sobs. I feel something terrible gathering in my chest, something hot and empty. _

_ I don't understand. _

_ “Katniss!” Prim screeches, tears beginning to well in her big, blue eyes. “Katniss!” she shakes my arm to gain my attention but I can't stop staring at my mother, clawing at the officer's sleeve. Her hair falling in her eyes, mascara running down her face. _

_ “Mom?” I whisper, but she can't hear me over her own wailing. She finally slides down the officer and falls to the floor beneath the weight of her grief and I can't move my arms or legs. Something numbing is spreading through me. _

_ All I can see is my Mother sobbing on the floor and the cop looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world than here. _

_ “Mom.” Prim steps toward her tentatively, reaching out for her but it is like my mother can't see her, can't see us. _

_ The ultimate betrayal to both of us. _

_ He's dead and still, all she can see is him. _

_ In this moment I realize that something is happening to me, and I don't want it to, but I am helpless to stop it. There is now a before and an after, a was and a will be, and from this point on, I will never be the same person as I was before. _

XX.XX

There is something comforting found where the forest meets the sea, as if the fog can mask my pain, the ocean could wash away the guilt and the pain. So it's with an apple and book in my bag that I make the walk to the place I've made my home, the place I can be me with no pretenses and no compromise.

I walk slowly through the neighborhood, ignoring a woman out walking her dog that stares at my lip ring and as I reach town I don't dare pause to look at the shop windows, I keep my head down, my braid hanging over my shoulder, a knitted cap pulled down over my ears. My eyes stay locked on the sidewalk until I reach the bakery at the end of the street, the smell of baking bread does something funny to my stomach and my eyes tilt up for a brief second as my stomach rolls inside of me.

They lock on Peeta, chatting animatedly with the girl from the party, she dressed in pajama pants and an old hoodie, her curls pulled up into a sloppy ponytail. I curse under my breath and rush by, hoping he hasn't seen me.

“Katniss!” He shouts and I bite down on my lip ring as my eyebrows knit together angrily, his words from the last time I spoke to him still ringing in my head. “Katniss, slow down please!” He's following me down the sidewalk as people stop and stare.

I don't look behind me, I don't slow down, I stomp down the street, glaring at the people who jump to avoid me. It's only when the girl speaks that I stop cold.

“Katniss,” she says in a no-nonsense voice that for whatever reason makes me pause. I turn slowly on my heel and stare her down.

For the first time, I really take her in, she's a little taller than me, she looks well-fed and has a soft, pretty face without any trace of malice or emptiness, unlike me. “It's nice to meet you.” She says stepping down from the steps and striding over to me.

“I'm Delly.” she holds out her hand to shake and I stare at it.

I almost blurt out the truth.

“I'm nothing, it's nice to meet you.” But I bite my tongue.

“Peeta's told me so much about you.”

This is surprising to me since Peeta knows next to nothing about me. What would he even say about me? She is mean? She hates everything and everyone? She lets her anger get the best of her constantly?

I think about the night of Finnick's party, a week ago, and I swallow a painful lump in my throat. Does she know? That I fucked a random stranger on the beach? Do her and Peeta laugh about it? I think about that jean jacket with the sex pistols patch she was wearing and the rips in her tights, how whole and pretty she seems compared to the mottled mess of hatred and organs that is me. I feel a flash of anger at this wholesome girl who seems like she belongs in the pages of a catalog, to be stared at  like a vase on a shelf.

“The Sex Pistols aren't music.” I snap. “Just noise.”

I'm hell-bent on leaving them both behind. I shuck my bag up higher on my shoulder and whirl around to stalk across the street, holding to whatever small amount of dignity I have left.

Peeta is having none of it.

He's calling after me, following at a steady pace down the street. “Katniss, please hold up?” he finally begs, those heavy footsteps fall silent.

For whatever reason I do, turning to stare at him. His eyes lock on mine.

“I'm sorry, for what I said at the party.” His voice pours over me like ice water.

“I'm not,” I say, my words sharp as a knife.

“What?”

“Sorry,” I say, hand on my hip. “ You were right, I fucked him.” I tilt up my chin stubbornly. His face does something funny, it falls for a moment, sagging beneath my words but just as quickly it turns into a mask. “So what?” I ask him, it's an extreme effort to keep my voice from cracking.

He seems like he's at a loss for words.

I want to tell him the truth, it is all his fault. I would have never have made my way down the beach if it wasn't for him. I needed to forget him, the way his blue eyes crinkle when he laughs and the way his lips quirk up when I catch him looking at me. I don't say anything though, I just watch him as he works through what I've said, a range of emotions crossing his face. I wonder what it's like, living life as an open book, for all to read. There is something so free about it.

“You're a big girl.” he says finally, “You can make your own choices and it was none of my business, so I'm sorry.”

Somehow I feel disappointed by his answer. “That it, then?” I ask, feeling like my teeth have been ground to dust.

“I guess so.” He says softly, toeing the cement with his boot.

“Better be getting back to your girlfriend then,” I say, motioning toward Delly whose standing awkwardly a few feet away. He turns and smiles at the girl, somewhat ruefully.

“Delly and I are just friends, I told you that.”

“You can make your own choices,” I echo his words back to him, “It's none of my business.”

“Katniss,” he says softly, but I am already backing away. He looks stricken, pale, and the bruise on his cheek has turned yellow, almost invisible now.

“Your parents have a nice bakery,” I say.

“Katniss.” He says more forcefully.

“See you around.” I wave and turn around ignoring him when he calls my name one last time.

The day is cold but the sky is a brilliant blue and the ocean reflects it back. I find a spot beneath the boughs of an ancient redwood and fall on the spongy, sandy dirt. I lay on my back and stare up at the branches that sway gently in the salty breeze. Being here reminds me of the summer nights Prim and I shared in our backyard, looking up at the stars, our fingers twined together, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Back when our love masked the chipping paint on the house and the rotting wood pile near the fence. Back when there was two of us who knew no matter who left, we'd always have each other and that counted for something, in fact, it was everything.

Then I turned away from her, and it was just a moment, only a moment in the infinite universe. I turned away, and in that one long second, she left me.

And for this long moment, I hate her for it.

I stare up at the blue sky, I don't even realize I've begun humming the one song I wish I'd forget.

_ The sky is now folding under you. _

_ It's all over now, baby blue. _

XX.XX

Finnick is staring at me as I blow a strand of hair from my sweat-soaked forehead. I've been banished from the front by my uncle after spilling ice tea all over a ladies pancakes. So I wash dishes with Finnick, a grimy apron I think used to be white slung over my neck, protecting the clean white work shirt.

“You should really talk to him.” He says, nudging me with his shoulder, snapping me back to reality.

“I'd rather have all my teeth pulled.” I snap, scrubbing dried on ketchup on a plate.

“He feels awful,” Finnick says, his green eyes locked on me, and I try to avoid him. Finnick has this odd way of getting his words inside of me. It's not something I appreciate, at all. He tugs on the straps of the apron, tied around my waist and the knot dissolves, he smiles at this as he leaves with a stack of plates, steaming from the dishwasher.

“Remind me sometime to give you a lesson in knot tying, because yours suck.” He disappears around a corner and out of sight, leaving me to dry off my hands and re-tie my apron that is now hanging loose.

I sigh and throw the plate back into the soapy water, watching as some of it splashes back at me wrathfully. A part of me wants to march down to wherever Peeta might be and announce to him that Finnick is suddenly his champion and demand that Peeta tell him to leave me be.

I settle on angrily scrubbing a cup.

All too soon, the last customer offers payment and the door lock behind them and the servers gather around the bar and after the last tub of lettuce is put away and the last dish is put in its place, people start taking shots as I change into jeans and a sweatshirt. I try to slip into the room as quietly as possible, hoping no one would notice me.

“Kitty Kat!” Finnick says, handing me a shot glass filled with something bright and fruity looking. “Have a shot with me.” He pulls me by my hand as a young waitress turns up the music. I think her name is Abby, or Annie, maybe?

She smiles as I grimace, sighing and chugging the shot in my fist. “Another,” I say to Finnick, handing him the empty glass.

Someone knocks on the glass door, jolting all of us.

I huff out a breath as Finnick lets Peeta in, but he has someone with him. Finnick doesn't seem happy to see the other man. The man gives Finnick a wry smile and slaps Peeta in the shoulder. Peeta looks like a kicked dog, his head hanging down, if he had a tail it would be between his legs.

“Hey, Finn.” The man says happily, not at all noticing that the mood in the room has gone sour at his presence.

“Cato,” Finnick says coldly, and it takes me back. Finnick is usually carefree but now looks on edge.

“Who is this?” Cato says, stopping in front of the mousy waitress from before, reaching out to touch her long, dark hair that flows in loose curls around her shoulders.

“A-Annie.” she says softly, backing away from his fingers.

“Well, A-Annie.” He says with his best imitation of a light smile. “It's so nice to meet you.”

“What's your business here?” Finnick snaps suddenly, shoving his way between the girl and Cato.

“What Finn, can't a guy come for a drink, looks like you guys are having a party.”

“Cato, we should go,” Peeta speaks up.

“Nonsense, Peet, we just got here.” I catch Peeta's eyes and they land on me hard, like a kick to the chest. He makes no attempt to acknowledge me, it seems like we've never met. He slips past me without a word and comes to stand by Finnick.

“What are you doing here with him?” Finnick snaps. “You know that violates-”

Peeta cuts him off with a sharp look. Cato bares his teeth but it's disguised as a smile. “Violates what, Finn?”

Its Finnick's turn to smile, his white teeth glinting in the low light. “Nothing Cato.” Finnick's eyes glance to Peeta, whose glance flicks to me nervously.

I don't know what makes my feet move towards him, but I float forward, coming to a stop in front of Cato.

He's short, shorter than Peeta, and a little leaner and his curls cropped short, close to his head but it's easy to see that he and Peeta are related. I see Peeta out of the corner of my eye step forward just slightly, his fingers twitching as if he is going to grab be and pull me behind him.

“Hi, Cato,” I say I see Finnick suppress a smirk.

“Hello, Honey.” He says, looking me up and down. “Who might you be?”

“Katniss,” I say, hoping it sounds sweet on my tongue.

He repeats my name at me, it sounds like a hiss, something cold and callous.

I feel my hands go to my hip as my head tips to the side, my braid falling over my shoulder. His eyes roam over me possessively and Peeta's hang-dog look returns for a moment as I step toward Cato, until my face is inches from his, his eyes looking into mine, his smirk stuck soundly on his face.

“You're, like, a total dick, aren't you?” I spit in his face, turning around to saunter off.

“You're, like, a total bitch, aren't you?” He says to my back and I feel a familiar heat rise in my chest, I turn back, whipping around quickly, my fist connecting with his nose, hard.

“Ow!” I shout, shaking my hand and curling it into my chest, but no one can hear me over Cato's howls of pain as he clutches his nose, blood leaking from between his fingers.

“Oh, Shit!” Finnick shouts, laughing.

Annie has her hand over her mouth, Thresh, the cook is laughing, his dark, broad shoulders shaking. I turn to look at Peeta who is looking at me like I've done something horrid. I feel my chin jut out stubbornly, daring him to say something.

He probably hates me even more now, I've hit his relative and from the feeling of it broken my hand in the process. My knuckles throb painfully.

“You fucking bitch!” Cato shouts, his nose clogged with blood. “You fucking bitch whore.”

“Is that the best you can do?” I ask, quirking my eyebrow.

“I'll fucking kill you.” He lunges forward at me but to my surprise Peeta steps forward, grabbing Cato's shoulder, his fingers grasping the other man's shirt.

“That's enough,” Finnick says, shoving Cato backward. “It's best you leave.” And between Peeta and Finnick they shove him out the door and lock it behind him.

“You're a total idiot Katniss,” Finnick says with a playful smirk. “I love it.” He grabs a towel from the counter and fills it with ice.

Peeta who has been deathly silent, staring at me, clears his throat. “Hows your hand?” He asks softly.

I flex my fingers and flinch. “It hurts,” I say, cringing as he steps forward to look at the bruises that are already blooming along my knuckles.

“That was so stupid Katniss.” He says, taking my hand in his softly. “He won't forget it.”

“Who is that prick anyway?” I ask.

“Cato Chadwick?” Finnick answers, pressing the cold cloth to my knuckles as I hiss in pain. “Peeta's dear cousin, and local miscreant.” He thrusts the towel against my hand and instructs me to keep it pressed there. I take it and look at the two men who stand staring at each other.

“What did he want, Peeta?” Finnick asks.

“Wants me to help him out with, uh, with something.” Peeta chokes out, his eyes floating between Finnick and me nervously.

Two and two begin to come together in my brain. Why Effie is so wary of him, Why my uncle insists he is a good kid. Why other people think lowly of him. He must have gotten caught with his cousin doing something he shouldn't. Something bad.

Finnick moves around the bar, pouring everyone a drink, he hands one to Peeta, then Annie, then me. “You told him no, right?” Finnick says.

“I tried, Finn, but you know how he is.”

“Peeta, Peeta, Peeta,” Finnick says, sounding like a mother. “You always had trouble saying no to him.”

“Come on, Finnick.”

“Peeta,” I say and his eyes snap to mine immediately. “What did you do?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

Everyone suddenly looks uncomfortable, like I've just sucked all the laughter from the room. I look from Annie to Finnick and then to Peeta, confused.

Peeta looks at his feet, his cheeks pink.

“How about another drink?” Finnick says with a smile and I look down at mine, untouched in my hand. I sigh, drink it down and hand him my glass, letting the whiskey burn down my throat and fall into my stomach like an inferno.

When I look up Peeta is watching me, but what he is thinking, I don't know. I realize he isn't the open book I thought he was. The whiskey is spreading through my limbs and up to my mouth. I am afraid I am going to say something stupid so I turn on my heel and disappear behind a wall, taking a long, heaving breath.

When I come back it seems the previous conversation has been long forgotten by everyone but Peeta and I. Annie is on the bar laughing and dancing to a horrendous country song as Finnick pours drinks and Thresh sits stoically in the corner, but his eyes are looking at Annie fondly, like she's an endearing child.

Peeta is staring at me, but I don't look at him. He has his secrets he doesn't want to tell me. That's fine, I have my own. My mistrust melts into something else, something scorching as fire. This unpredictable boy in front of me looks ashamed and I have to wonder why.

All of us have secrets, that's apparent.

“Peeta, would you give me a ride home?” I ask and he nods, setting his untouched drink down on the bar and after saying goodbye to Finnick whose has joined Annie atop the bar and Thresh I gather my things and we walk through the dark parking lot. Peeta's eyes flitting this way and that protectively.

I climb into the truck, feeling a little drunk, a little brave.

Peeta turns the ignition but makes no move to leave. For a long, torturous moment there are only the sounds of our thumping hearts, his slow and steady, mine like rabbit's feet. Then he slams the heel of his hand on the steering wheel.

“Prim is my sister,” I say softly, hoping that if I reveal a little about me, he might do the same.

“What?” he asks, his whole body turning in the seat, toward me.

“Prim, you asked who she was, she's my sister.” He nods, looking back out the steering wheel.

“Cato's my cousin.” He says. “And he won't let me forget it.” He looks down at his hand, stiff against the cool plastic steering wheel.

“Last year we robbed a warehouse.” He swallows thickly. “I'm good at picking locks.” He smiles humorlessly. “I'm less good with silent alarms,” he says softly. “They ran, I got caught.” He swallows thickly.

“I was offered a deal, give Cato and Marvel up and get less time in jail.”

“Did you?” I ask when his voice trails off.

“Did I? Give up my cousin.” His laugh is lifeless, dull. “No.” He says resolutely.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because he's family. Because I remember who he used to be.”

I don't know why I do it, maybe to wipe the pained look on his face, maybe because I know what it's like, to be put into a situation where you don't know what's right or whats wrong. Maybe it was because I've wanted to do it from the first time I saw him, despite trying to ward it away. For whatever reason, I lean towards him, my fingers pull his jaw toward mine tenderly and I press my lips to his softly.

A voice in my head whispers not to.

That he'll hurt me.

It hammers along with my heart just like a headache. I ignore it because the instant my lips touch his, so softly we're barely touching I feel a jolt go through me, starting at my slightly chapped lips and escaping from my toes.

Cloves and Vanilla. Soap and Dust. And something inside of me aches. This feels so tender, and tender is a foreign word to me, it can't coexist with all the hatred and pain mashed inside of me. I feel my organs at war with my brain. This gentleness feels like a balm on all of my cracked places and as his hands reach up and his thumb brushes my cheekbone I pull away to look at him. My heart thumping slow and steady. 

 

Then it stops altogether.

 

He looks like he might cry. Like he might dissolve in my hands. There goes the boy with the blue eyes. Gone, poisoned by a kiss. Poisoned by my hate. I look away from him quickly, blood rushing to my cheeks.

“I don't understand you.” He says softly, it doesn't sound unkind, just matter of fact.

“You don't want to.” It's my turn to laugh humorlessly.

“But I do.” He says.

I flex my stiff hand, my knuckles screaming. I look out the window, my eyes scanning the empty parking lot. I pick at a thread of loose skin near my thumbnail.

“What happened to your sister?” He asks, his voice small and unsure as if he is waiting for me to run.

“What happens to all of us?” I say, leaning back in the seat.

At this, he pulls out of the parking lot and I don't say anything else the entire ride home. He pulls up to the curb, his eyes glancing at me shyly. And call it one drink too many, I reach my hand up and brush his curls out of his face. His eyes slide shut as my hand freezes with panic as I wonder what exactly made me do that. I untangle my fingers from his curls and place both hands in my lap, one purple and cut and slightly swollen.

He takes my hand gingerly. “Can I kiss you again?” He says, running his thumb down my bruised knuckles.

“Peeta,” I say warningly.

“Please?” He whines like a puppy left in the cold.

“Alright.” I huff.

He smiles like I have just shown him heaven itself. “You’ll allow it?” He asks, his fingers like butterfly wings on my skin. I can’t say anything but I nod, my eyes locked on his.

He leans down and kisses the cut on my knuckle and I feel everything in me stiffen then melt like candle wax.He smiles and for a moment I am sure it will be the death of me. It fills my blood with something bright and warm. Hope.

What a deadly emotion, hope, it's the crystal meth of emotions, it hooks you fast and kills you hard Once hope shows up it is only a matter of time before everything falls apart. I swallow and my mouth feels dry, my tongue refuses to moisten. I must make a face because Peeta looks nervous for a moment.

“Katniss.” He says as I slide out of my seat and onto the pavement.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“I'm sorry.” He looks at the steering wheel, running his fingernail down a crack in the plastic. “About your sister.”

For a moment I want to lie to him, tell him it was alright, an accident, she didn't feel a thing. But that is a lie, too big and too terrible for even me. She did feel it, she felt everything, it was slow and agonizing and cold, so cold on that street and everyone stood frozen, watching that red, red blood pooling underneath her, wet and sticky. All of them powerless to stop it. And me, arriving moments too late. But in enough time to listen to her sobs as the first few fat flakes of snow fell from the sky.

“Me too,” I say numbly, shutting the door behind me.

The truck pulls away in a sputter of dust and smog and I stand on the curb looking up at the house twinkling in the twilight. The cool breeze brushing my hair away from my face.

_ “Do you think the ocean is sad?” _ Prim asks, her blonde hair curled around her shoulders. Her feet bare against the cold, toes wiggling in the grass.

“The ocean isn't sad Prim, it's an ocean, it doesn't think. It doesn't feel.” I snap in a way I used to when she asked me silly questions.

_ “How could you possibly know that?” _ she wonders aloud.

I turn to look at her, but she doesn't look like the little twelve-year old I left behind on that day. She looks how she did when I came back, pallid, lips blue, drained of blood,  a smear of it is left behind on her cheek, a violent shade, a mark of death.

“Look at you,” I say, horrified at what she's become. “I'm so sorry.” I know it's in my head, I do, but I say it anyway, because, in all this time, I never really said it, not to her directly.

She shrugs her shoulders as if it is inconsequential.  _ “Happens to all of us, right?” _

“It shouldn't have happened to you,” I say softly.

“Katniss? Who are you talking to?” Its Haymitch, standing on the porch, the door swung open.

I turn back to Prim, but she's gone like I knew she would be. I struggle to suck in some precious oxygen. I bite my lip to keep from howling.

Why can't she just not be dead anymore?

I feel like a small child who knows nothing of death, I just want to curl up in the dirt, so I can just for a moment, be nearer to her, like the earth can carry her breath to me and fan it over my cheek, so I can pretend she is sleeping next to me in bed again. I'd give anything just to feel it once more. My precious, sweet sister, sleeping safely next to me. Her warmth spreading through me as we snuggled next to each other, keeping the nightmares at bay.

“No one,” I say in a hollow voice.

“Well, come talk to no one inside, it's freezing out here.” He turns and trudges inside. I look back to where my not-sister just stood, but it's just grass and more air. I follow him inside, knowing that there isn't anything out here for me, not anymore.

XX.XX

Effie insists that we have to buy pumpkins and carve faces in them, that it is Halloween tradition and it dictates buying a gourd sacrifice and yanking out its guts to the god of I don't know, candy. Then we further humiliate the pumpkin by carving a face into it and placing the skeleton of what used to be a useful thing outside for all the world to admire.

Apparently, in California, they've turned it into a competition. I can't for the life of me figure out why someone would spend precious money on something they could eat but instead place it to rot by the door, only to throw out when the molded corpse starts to collect flies. But here they put them on display and people vote on which one they like the most and at the end of it the most popular pumpkin will win its carver a dinner for two at my uncle's restaurant.

So that is why we are walking down the front of town staring at macabre faces of pumpkin after pumpkin, which is so exhilarating that they have shut the entire town down for it apparently. I try to look like I care, for Effie's sake, but all I manage is a blank look of apathy as I wander away from the group to poke at a pumpkin, just to piss off whatever man has been following us around only to shout at me that the pumpkins are for looking not touching.

What a douche.

The entire town is here. All though, I guess I can see why entertainment is certainly lacking around these parts. I find Finnick and Annie and wander away from my uncle and aunt. Annie has a beer in her hand and Finnick slips me one when my uncle looks away.

Annie and Finnick are hand in hand, her fingers so small compared to his and for a moment I remember Gale's hands, warm and calloused, pulling me down a street.

_ No, don't remember that. _ I tell myself in a whisper. But the thought is there, black and ashy and moldy, planted firmly in my head. Annie throws her head back and laughs at something Finnick has said, her green eyes lock on his like everything else in the world is invisible.

It kind of makes me want to gag.

Everyone here is bundled against the wind, trussed up in jackets and scarves and warm hats and Annie is in a long flowing dress, each step she takes seems like a dance move meant for a ballerina. I float along behind them, pretending to admire the different pumpkins.

“Of course, Peeta would have the best pumpkin of them all.” Annie muses in a huff, pointing at a pumpkin carved to look like an ocean wave breaking against a shore, someone stands on the beach, her feet in the surf. It could be anyone, so slight and small and incredulously carved out of the orange pumpkin, but it knocks the breath out of my chest because I know exactly who it is.

“It's amazing,” I say softly, reaching out to touch it.

“No touching the pumpkins Miss.” The man who has been trailing behind me snaps and I roll my eyes as Finnick laughs, pressing his lips in Annie's hair.

“Watch out, pumpkin police is here.” A girl says from behind me. She small, five foot nothing and maybe a hundred pounds with rocks in her pockets and she's standing next to a bashful looking Peeta, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Who do we have here?” She asks. Hands on her hips and jutting her chin out at me. I've seen her talking to Peeta at school, the girl with the short hair, gelled into spikes. She has a fearsome look about her like she's thinking of ripping my throat out.

“Johanna, this is Katniss,” Finnick says, moving to grasp me around the waist. I let out a small yelp and dig my elbow into his ribs.

I glance at Annie but she just rolls her eyes. Finnick runs his hands down my arms. “She's a little prickly, some might say you've met your match, Jo.”

“Hardly.” She says with an unimpressed snort and turns to Peeta. “Honestly, this is the girl you've been talking about non-stop.” She side eyes me. “I think you could do better.”

Peeta turns a deep shade of purple and looks at his feet.

“Somebody's shy.” Finnick teases.

“Is it me?” Johanna asks in a curious voice.

“you're a fragile flower, Jo, clearly.” Finnick laughs.

“Well, fuck you too.” Johanna snaps back.

I feel a familiar clawing at my heart, reminding me that I am not one of these kids, I don't belong here with them. I stand awkwardly at the side of the conversation, hoping not to be noticed. They all seem so at ease with each other in a way I've only felt with two people, Prim and Gale. Prim is dead and Gale, well, he might as well be.

I edge my way out of the circle, drinking down the last of my beer.

“Not one for crowds, I'm guessing?” Peeta asks, walking over to me, a slow gate as if he is scared that I'll startle and run like a skittish doe.

“Not really,” I mumble.

“We could go for a walk?” He shoves his hands in the pocket of his pants. I shrug and start to walk away, Peeta falls in step with me and we're both quiet for a long time.

“Where did you want to go?” I'm trying to be amiable, something that isn't really my forte exactly, the words taste odd on my lips, chemical and foreign.

“Have you ever been to the round room?” Peeta asks and I whirl around to look at him.

“What's the round room?” I ask.

“An old observatory up the highway little ways, back in the seventies they say Anton Levay used to spend time there.”

“Get out.” I grab his elbow to stop him feeling inexplicably excited all of sudden while cringing inwardly at my choice of words. Peeta laughs, but he's eying my hand that still resting in the crook of his arm.

“I could take you up there if you're not afraid of the cops being called.”

The smile on my lips isn't forced at all. “Let's go.”

XX.XX

The first thing I notice is how quiet it is up here. The sky goes on forever and in the darkness, the stars blink down, with no competition they drip bits of silver light down in a show I am sure was meant just for me. This must have been what it looked like when the world was new.

The only sound is our shallow breathing as Peeta leads me a short distance through scrub brush and weeds until we are standing before a round wall with an open ceiling. There is all manner of graffiti on the walls and bits of broken cinder blocks and dead Styrofoam cups ground into the dirt, in the center of the room someone has carefully painted a pentagram o

n the cement with red spray paint, but I am too busy looking up at the stars to really notice these things.

“Kids like to come out here to make mischief, the people around here tend to call the cops so we probably won't be able to stay long.”

I'm only half listening, too busy looking up at the spray of stars in the sky. The air holds that familiar smell of salt and seaweed that is ever present and for a moment all I can do is force it into my lungs, feeling drunk on the quiet all around me.

Peeta is shifting on his feet nervously, but smiling at me as I run my fingers down a mural of a Mexican girl on the wall, her hair is caught in some wind and blows around her face as she looks out toward the ocean with forlorn, black eyes.

There is something healing, being amongst ruins and I collapse against the wall, pressing myself against it like I could disappear into it if I try hard enough. I feel my eyes slide shut as my knuckles graze the walls behind me. I hear Peeta clear his throat and I crack one eye open.

I've never seen anyone looking as uncomfortable as he does right now, his eyes shifting around as his body sways uncertainly, I can't help myself, I choke down a chuckle.

“Peeta,” I say, not trying to hide the smile in my voice.

“Yeah?”

“When you say kids come out here to cause mischief, you weren't one of them were you?”

“Can't say that I was.” His flannel flaps in the wind as he smiles at me somewhat ruefully.

“Are you scared?” I ask, reaching down and picking up a small white pebble that has small flecks of gold embedded in its stiff skin. I run my fingers across the smooth surface. For the first time in a long time, I feel something approaching giddiness skittering across my skin, causing the fine hairs to stand on end. I toss it to Peeta and he fumbles to catch it.

“Me?” He asks with what I am sure he thinks is a cocky smirk. “Never.”

“Mhmm.” I hum, my lips won't seem to tug downward. “Sure.”

“I mean you're here.” He toes the ground with his boot, playing with a piece of cinder block. “What could hurt me?”

“I think you have a lot of confidence in me, and maybe you shouldn't.” I quirk my eyebrows in his direction.

“I am perfectly confident in knowing that if anything or anyone tries to mess with us, you could easily disembowel them with your words.”

“Sharp as a knife,” I mutter, the smile still tugging at my lips. When I look up Peeta is looking at me with eyes fathoms deep. I feel the smile slide from my lips as my eyes lock on his and for a long moment there is a choking silence that hangs in the air between us.

He crosses the space in three long strides and his fingers reach up and brush my bangs from my eyes. I feel his energy transfer through the strands of hair, through my scalp and down my spine.

“Never were truer words spoken.” He says with a soft smile, but I am not looking at him because my eyes feel heavy and my brain has slowed and my hands are shaking at my sides.

I think he might kiss me.

I think I want him to.

I turn away from him and I feel a heavy sigh escape his lips. I look up at the sky just as a fleck of light shoots across the sky and disappears as quickly as it had come.

“Make a wish,” I say in a soft light voice, but in my head, it's Prim saying it and in my head, I am laying on a blanket in our backyard and our fingers are tangled together. When I look down my fingers are entwined with Peeta's our hands hanging limply between us.

“Already have,” Peeta whispers and when I look up at him I idly wonder what he sees when he's looking at me the way he does. Like I am a painting hanging on a wall or a sculpture in Italy. I wonder where he goes when he gets that far away look in his eyes. “What about you, what do you wish for?” He asks, staring at our fingers twined together, my skin dark against his.

“I don't,” My words get stuck stubbornly in my throat and I have to swallow twice before they dislodge. “I don't make wishes anymore,” I say.

“That sounds really sad.” He squeezes my fingers and I offer him a smile, but it isn't the same one I wore earlier, it's a forgery.

“Sometimes,” I say lamely.

Blue and red lights cut through the dark and my feet instinctively inch backward, dragging Peeta with my hand. I hear a car door slam and an officer mutter something about damned kids.

“Come on,” I say, tugging Peeta along after me into the darkness of the trees. It's clear he can't be quiet pretty quickly, no wonder he got caught. He finds every dried leaf and twig in a mile radius. I shove him in front of me so I can glare at the back of his head without him being any wiser. But even that doesn't quell the irritation rising up my throat.

“I thought you were a criminal?” I whisper loudly, a hiss in the darkness.

“I got caught.” He says I can almost see his eye roll.

“No wonder, I think there are maybe three people in Russia that can't hear you.”

He turns suddenly, stopping me in my tracks. “We can't all have the stealth of a cat.” He snaps.

“Clearly.”

“You're not very nice, you know.” He says, I'm taken back a little bit but there is a smile tugging at his lips. For a moment all I can here is the raggedness of Peeta's breathing and my own heart thumping in my chest. We've been encompassed by darkness, I can't hear the cops or see anything beyond the pines and Peeta's blue eyes that glint in the emptiness encasing us like a tomb. “Maybe you'll be sent back to the Midwest for misbehaving, huh?”

I inch backward on shuffling feet before I can do anything crazy, like kiss him.

For a moment I can't help but wonder what brought me out here with him? What keeps dragging me towards him like a bird to the north? I'd like to blame his eyes or those freckles that spatter the bridge of his nose. Maybe it is the way his smile is so lopsided. It does something funny to my heart. Most of the boys I've liked look like Joey Ramone. This boy, he's nothing like that.

Another world completely.

So I take his hand and drag him down as I sit, and when he falls cross-legged next to me I can't help but drop my eyes to the ground and stare at the rotting leaves beneath me.

“I used to love the woods,” I say softly. He doesn't say anything back, just squeezes my fingers gently. I don't understand how he does that, just knows, that I can't speak of the dead because speaking it makes it real, and if it's real then where does that leave me? A crazy girl with no home, a tired tongue and a dead sister.

Then she's standing a few feet off, staring up at the night sky like it's the first time she's seeing it. I follow her line of sight and swallow down the words that are bubbling up from my chest to my lips, my urge to call out to her. All I need is to give myself away, all I need is for Peeta to see the real me when I've worked so hard to keep her hidden inside somewhere safe, where no one could hurt her.

I don't remember much of the ride home, just the cool wind that whips my hair back from my face and Peeta leaning heavily against the door of his ancient truck, a faint smile playing on his lips. The smell of the salt spray from the ocean and the way Peeta looks at me sideways when he thinks I can't see him.

When we pull up to the curb he kisses me and I wonder if he can taste the bitter poison on my lips and when he whispers a goodnight, I don't say anything back, just slink back toward home as he waits to pull away until I get safely inside.

“Where have you been?” Haymitch is waiting for me at the kitchen table and I sigh heavily, dropping myself down into a chair across from him.

“Went for a drive,” I say vaguely.

“It's almost midnight.” He accuses.

“Lost track of time,” I say, my tone clipped.

“Dammit, Katniss.” He grumbles. “You can't just leave with whoever you feel like, whenever you feel like, you worried Effie half to death.”

For a moment I ache for home when there was no one to agonize over where I went, what classes I was failing or the intentions of the delinquent sleeping in my bed upstairs. I push my chair up with my feet and fix my uncle with a glare.

“I have homework,” I state flatly.

“What is that?” He asks suddenly and I have to hide my confusion for a moment, but quickly I see where he is staring and see that the ring around my neck has come loose from my shirt and is hanging directly in my uncle's line of sight, he reaches for it but I slide back and tuck it back inside my shirt, an uncle no-fly zone. “Where did you get that?”

It's like his whole body sags for a moment. “Prim had it on her when... when-” I don't finish my sentence because my uncle is staring at me with piercing gray eyes. My heart stumbles at the sound of her name on my lips, then falls flat. “I need to go to bed,” I say, ignoring the way my uncle's mouth flops open and shut as he searches for something to say. “I just need to go.”

I crawl my way to the bathroom and turn on the tap. I pull my hair from its braid, letting my hair fall around my shoulders. I yank off my earrings and cup some water in my hands, watching as it spills from my fingers into the sink. I wash away the eyeliner and grime from my face and when I look into the mirror I can't help but stare at the reflection in the mirror for a long time. I can see the lines and planes of my face, water dripping off my nose and onto my black shirt, making the fabric darker. I recognize my eyes, like charcoal against my dusky skin. The small scar on my chin. Yet somehow, this girl looking back at me, without her armor, is a stranger.

I don't know her in the least.

_ The days after my father's death are a blur of hazy colors and shapes that don't make sense. The only thing that keeps me tethered to reality is my sister, who spends her days trying to comfort my mother as she stares out the window, curled up on the couch in her bathrobe, watching the snow falling from the sky in lazy patterns. _

_ I make a simple breakfast of cold cereal and toast for us the morning of the funeral, though it sits untouched on the table as we three huddled together until it's time to get ready. Prim helps mother dress and brushes the knots from her hair as I wonder why Mom isn't doing it for Prim, isn't that the way mothers are supposed to be? _

_ Finally, Uncle Haymitch arrives in a rented black town car to take us to the church, the place his mother, his wife and now, his brother is buried. _

_ He carries Prim to the car as my mother leans heavily against me. Her blonde hair tickling my cheek as she cries against my neck. She hasn't showered in three days and smells sour. I have to swallow the urge to push her away from me. _

_ I've never been so thankful that the coffin stays shut that day. I never have to see what the damage was to my father. I am at least spared that. _

_ But as people file out of the church and out to the graveyard Prim pulls me to the side and holds out her hand, palm up, to reveal a ring, glinting against the dark day. I can only stare at it for a long moment before reaching out to take it, the metal cool against my skin. _

_ “Prim, where did you get this?” I ask. _

_ “I found it in the things the cops brought back to Mom,” she says. _

_ “Does she know you have it?” I ask. _

_ “No, she's too sad.” _

_ I hold it back out to her. “She'll know it's missing Prim, you have to put it back.” _

_ “She won't notice.” Prim huffs, putting the ring in her pocket. “I want something of his too.” She whimpers, her big, blue eyes watery and far away. I can't begrudge her this, I have his jacket, hanging in my closet, stolen from the coat rack by the door. I have his guitar, sitting cold and dusty. Prim doesn't have anything. _

_ She pockets the ring and in the weeks that go by my mother doesn't notice. _

_ But one night she does. _

_ It is three in the morning and I wake groggily to the noise of something smashing downstairs and my mother yelling her head off. _

_ “Where is it?” she shouts at nothing and I blink up at the ceiling. _

_ “Jack!” My mother screams, it echoes off the walls and hangs in every corner like cobwebs. I pull the blankets over my head, trying to hide. _

_ I feel Prim crawl in next to me, and I soak in her warmth immediately. Her small body sidles up to mine and her breath is on my cheek. _

_ “It's okay Katniss.” She says softly. Her fingers reach up to wipe away the moisture on my cheeks. I hadn't noticed I was crying. _

_ “I miss him,” I whisper into her hair. She runs her fingers through my hair. _

_ “Me too.” She whispers. _

_ We fall asleep like this, wrapped up together, while my mother screams her pain downstairs. My father's wedding ring sitting on Prim's bedside table, where my mother can't find it. _

In my head, I can hear my mother screaming. I shut the water off and reach for a towel, wiping my face dry and dropping it to the floor just to piss Effie off. I make my way my bedroom and shove the window open, desperate for air. I reach into my bag and find a pack of Marb Reds that I have filched from Finnick. I crawl out onto the roof and light up. I don't feel the sting of smoke in my lungs or the wind on my face, just the sadness that has slammed into me like a battering ram.

I don't cry though, I just smoke my cigarette in the silence, listening to my ragged heart dance in my chest.

XX.XX

Glimmer Darcy is behind me as I stare up at the teacher droning on at the front of the room. She's whispering loudly and giggling behind her hand. From what I hear she's an aged out movie star's daughter, but to the new girl in school that's just rumor.

“Hey, Katniss.” She taps my shoulder to get my attention. “Katniss.” She says louder, I roll my eyes and ignore her, tapping my pen against my notebook.

“Hey, Freak.” She finally hisses and I turn sharply to glare at her as she hands me a piece of paper. “Pass that up to Clove, will you?”

I toss it to the floor and turn back around. She grumbles to herself but says nothing more to me. She isn't my friend, she isn't an ally, to me, she's no one, just a background noise in a static sea. I shut her out as easily as I have everyone else.

But as I walk to the cafeteria from class, looking over my notes my foot catches on something and I go skittering forward, landing hard on the cool tile hallway. I look up to see Glimmer laughing at me.

“Careful, freak, you might break your neck like that.” She says, still laughing.

“No, I can't,” I say in a trembling voice. “I've tried, but thank you, Glimmer, for trying,” I say gathering up my papers that flew from my hand. I watch as the smile slides from her face.

“Freak.” She hisses again as her friend Clove laughs at me.

I find Peeta in the cafeteria. “Hey, you're bleeding.” He says, reaching out for the place where my chin scraped the floor.

“It's fine,” I grumble, holding on to my banana I brought for lunch for dear life. Still, his fingers reach out and brush the red away, staining his finger copper. I can't stop staring at it. Thinking of another morning I saw that color, pooling, then unfurling under my sister like rose petals.

“It's fine,” I say again. My voice sounding dead.

“What happened?” he presses. For a moment I think he means everything. My father, my sister, my mother in her straightjacket. Would I tell him? Open these festering wounds for him to see? No, certainly not.

“Glimmer needs to improve her vocabulary.” I snort, peeling my banana. “That's what happened.”

XX.XX

The sand is cool under me and when I sit up it spills from my braid and down my shirt. I stare at Peeta in the flickering light of the bonfire Finnick has built at the edge of the beach. There is no one else around but the group of us. Johanna and Annie have both taken hits of acid and Annie stares up at the stars, convinced that they're dancing in the sky and her voice rings out that it can't be possible and she sobs her panic until Finnick comes over and soothes her with just a touch to the top of her head and when she looks at him it's like no one else in the world exists.

It leaves a sharp stab in my stomach, forcing me to look away.

Johanna is trying to braid Peeta's curls and curses like a sailor when the braid springs apart. And then there is me, stuck like a rock in the sand, listening to everyone laugh around me as I stare into the flames.

“Katniss?” It's Finnick, come to sit next to me. He hands me a plastic cup filled with vodka and cranberry juice. I take a swig and wince, he's made it too strong. “When are you going to actually join the fun?”

I shrug my shoulders and listen to the crackling of the fire, pressing my scraped chin into my jean clad knee. Finnick smiles and tugs on one of my earrings, it sends a shot of irritation down my spine and I scoot away from him, making Finnick laugh. From across the fire, I see Peeta and Delly in rapt conversation.

“He really likes you.” Finnick insists.

“No, I don't think he does,” I say.

“What makes you say that?” Finnick asks.

“I'm that nasty red lettuce,” I say. There is a long pause while Finnick tries to process what I have said.

“What?” Finnick asks.

“He's had too much sweet.” Delly giggles loudly, her head thrown back as Peeta hands her a freshly made s'more. I look down at the sand. She's dressed in a floral dress and sandals. No metal, no chains, she isn't afraid of anything. She doesn't need any protection from ghosts. “Now he wants something bitter.”

“Maybe he needs it?” Finnick says, “Maybe he needs an acid-tongued, black-hearted little she-witch.” He tugs on my earring again and I swat his hand away.

“Maybe you need something sweet, huh, Kitty Kat.”

“I hate that stupid nickname,” I grumble, dragging my fingers through the sand.

“Maybe you need a reminder that life can get better.”

“What would you know about it?” I snap because I can feel the blackness tinting around me again, like the charred edges of paper. It always comes on fast and blinding, demanding attention, like a migraine.

“Nothing,” Finnick says with a plastic smile, taking a swig from his beer bottle and standing. “Nothing at all.” He's looking down at me with an expression I can't read, it's so, not Finnick, I have to look away.

Then he is scooping me up and dragging me down the beach. “What are you doing?” I huff indignantly. “Put. me. Down!” I shout. I beat against his chest, all the good it does, he might as well be a brick wall.

“Whatever you say, Kitty Kat.” And he drops me in the knee high waves. For a moment I can't see anything, or hear anything. There is no burning in my lungs, it is just nothing. Then the cold creeps in and I surface, sputtering for air, coughing up water.

“God, you're such a prick!” I shout as the people on the shore laugh. I feel a heat burning my cheeks and I splash water at Finnick who doesn't seem phased by it.

“Lighten up, Katniss.” He smirks. Then I am chasing him down the beach in waterlogged pants and dripping hair. The wind picks up and prickles my wet skin. Finnick doubles back, out of breath and falls next to the fire by Peeta. I grab a fistful of sand and fling it in his direction, all he does is laugh, infuriating me more.

“Got a towel for the girl, Peeta?” Peeta jumps up, rummaging in his pocket for his keys, Finnick winks up at me, his copper hair glinting in the firelight. “She could catch her death out here.” For a moment all I can do is shiver and glare. Peeta starts to jog up the beach. “Better catch up, kitty.”

What an ass.

“Fuck you.” I snap but run to catch up with Peeta. He's already in his truck by the time I wheeze up to the parking lot.

“Here.” He says, handing me a garishly colored beach towel. I wrap it around myself and mumble thanks.

“Katniss?” Peeta looks sallow in the dark. I ring out my braid, which will have sand in it until the day I die.

“What is it, Peeta?” I asked, distracted by all the sand in my clothes. When I glance up at him he's smiling at me. “What?” I snap.

“Um, nothing.” He says, his eyes flitting away shyly. Then he thinks better of it. “Well, here, let me.” He holds his hand out for the towel and I stare at it suspiciously for a moment before relinquishing my hold on the damp cloth.

He tosses it over my head unceremoniously before rubbing it against my head furiously. “Gah, stop!” I wrestle the towel from over my head and glower at him. He giggles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You look like a drowned rat,” he says from behind the back of his hand.

But I'm not looking at Peeta anymore, because there is my little sister, looking at me with those owl eyes, blinking up at me curiously.

For a moment I wonder if acid is contagious.

“Katniss?”

Not now, please.

I shut my eyes and lean against Peeta's truck.

“Peeta, do you think ghosts are real?” I ask, pressing my palms against my eyelids. When I look back, my sister is gone.

“There's a loaded question,” Peeta states flatly.

“Peeta.” I'm horrified at the begging tone.

“Um, No, I guess not.” I look at my feet, my fingernails, the sand on the pavement, anything but him. “I mean, in the way everyone talks about.” He falls quiet and looks at his shoes. After an aching second says. “But people, they definitely have ghosts.”

When I finally look up at him he's watching me with intense eyes and for a moment I have a wild idea that I can be more than this, more than this sad girl on a beach. I could be something stronger and bigger than myself.

Its how I used to feel when playing my Dad's guitar.

When I became the music.

When I became magical.

Then I fall back to earth, and I hit the ground hard. Peeta looks away from me, and I stand there in the dark feeling like the earth has shifted under my feet and I can't put a reason on why. I hand Peeta back his towel and walk back toward the beach.

“Where were you, Kitty Kat?” Finnick asks his voice teasing as Annie giggles into his shoulder, her spindly, pale arms wound around his neck. Those words, they shut me down completely. I feel my heart stutter, then die.

“Where I wasn't supposed to be, as usual.” I snap back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs featured in this chapter are.  
> Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles.  
> It's All Over Now, Baby Blue - Bob Dylan.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damned it, Katniss.

“A mighty flame follows a tiny spark.”   
― Dante Alighieri

Chapter 7

_I swing the door open and jostle inside, throwing my bag down and pausing in the doorway. My mother sits just as I left her this morning. Her hair lank around her shoulders, her lips a bloodless line as she stares off into nothing. Her hands grip a photo of my father, his smiling face stares up at me, unchanging. Prim sits on the floor in front of her, her eyes glued to the television, watching a cartoon cat and mouse chase each other endlessly._

_“Hey, Little Duck,” I say and she looks at me with a smile._

_“Get anything?” She asks and I shake my head._

_“People weren't paying today,” I say softly. I shift the guitar on my shoulder and sigh._

_“I'm hungry.” She says, looking at the coffee table in front of her. Its littered with bills we can't pay and old coffee cups I haven't had the energy to put in the sink._

_My head snaps to my mother who is still blank-faced, her eyes somewhere far away. I feel anger welling up inside of me._

_“Mom.” I can feel my jaw clench, unclench, then clench again. She doesn't acknowledge me in the least, it's like I haven't spoken. “Mom, look at me,” I demand. She is completely still and stoic. I storm over to her, putting both hands on either side of her face. Forcing her to look me in the eyes._

 

_“Get up,” I say._

 

_“Katniss-” Prim tries to interject but I tell her to shush_

 

_“Mom.” I am trying to keep my voice even for Prim's sake but I feel the anger threatening to spill over like water from a cup. “Mom, Prim is hungry.”_

 

_I might as well be talking to a brick wall._

 

_“Dammit get off your ass and make her something to eat!” I snarl in her face._

 

_She just looks at me with unblinking eyes._

 

_“Fuck,” I mumble, throwing my guitar to the ground and kick Prim's toys out of my way. I slam cupboards and throw silverware into the sink with more force than is necessary, but when I return Prim has a peanut butter sandwich and a handful of greasy potato chips._

 

_“Thanks.” She says as I set the plate in front of her with my best imitation of a smile. “I could have made it.”_

 

_“That isn't the point,” I say, glaring at my mother, who still hasn't moved._

 

_“Do you want to watch T.V. With me?” Prim asks and I shake my head._

 

 _“Got homework,” I say and am up the stairs in an instant. I look around_ _the room for a moment, feeling something violent rattling around in my chest. I run over to my bed and bury my face in my pillow to muffle my screams._

 

_Why can't she just be a mom?_

 

_When my screams finally die out and my throat is raw, I reach for the ancient Walkman that I keep on the nightstand by my bed. I pull the headphones over my ears and hit play._

 

_For a moment I forget I am here because I am lost in Otis Redding._

 

 

“We play today, ja?” Cinna asks as he does every day.

 

“No, Cinna.”

 

He peers at me with his chocolate eyes. Appraising me like I am a cow going to slaughter. I shift my weight in my seat, my boots squeaking against the linoleum. There is an ancient violin on his desk, finely polished a deep red. It looks brittle and old and beautiful, my fingers itch to touch it but I hold steady. Cinna smirks at me like this was his plan all along.

 

“Did you know that Bach lost eleven children?” He says suddenly, looking at me from over his glasses.

 

“No.”

 

“How did he survive such grief, many ask.”

 

“I didn't,” I mutter.

 

“Well, I will tell you anyway.” I snort and he glares at me. “One note at a time.” He says simply.

 

“Well, I'm not Bach.” I snap.

 

“Clearly,” Cinna says.

 

I slam my head against the wall behind me and stare at the ceiling. I'm not in the mood for this, I ball my skirt in my fist and twist it around. I'm determined not to look at him, he can't know that he's gotten to me. That's why I don't see him picking up the violin. I just hear the first few chords of Bach's Violin Sonata no. 1 in G minor.

 

I've never heard anything like Cinna. I whip my head up, my hands beginning to shake. The music swells around me and for a moment all I can do is slide my eyes shut and listen. The bow is like an extension of his arm, as deadly as a sword. For a moment, I see it, Bach's grief pouring out of Cinna. His eyelids, thin as paper, slide shut.

 

I feel my chest heaving, my pulse pounding in my neck. My hands grip the seat of the chair as I listen. Long after he has finally stopped playing the music hammers in my skull, bouncing around my brain.

 

“If you will not play then at least make yourself useful and take this to the office,” He says without preamble or explanation. He holds out a pink slip of paper. “I am an old man and my legs tire so easily.” I stand on trembling legs and reach out for the slip of paper, being careful not to touch him.

 

That is when I see it, a long series of worn out blue numbers tattooed on Cinna's arm. For a moment I can't breathe, I can't move, I just stare at Cinna unabashedly, blinking at him stupidly. He looks down at where my eyes are stuck. He rolls down his sleeve and perches his glasses back on his face.

 

“Go now.” He demands, and I do.

 

I run my fingers along the wall next to me as we walk as I try to decipher what I have seen. That is why I don't see them right away.

 

“Come on, Peeta, it's just sitting in that warehouse.”

 

“That's not really the point,” Peeta says and I feel myself still in the middle of the hallway. Cato has Peeta by the collar of his shirt, neither boy has noticed me, I could back away and slip out unnoticed but something has me rooted to the spot.

 

“It's easy money, you need the money right cousin?”

 

“It isn't about the money.” Peeta pushes Cato back and for a moment all they do is stare at each other.

 

“You've always thought you were better than me.” Cato sneers. “But you're not, Peeta.”

 

“I never thought I was better than you, Cato.”

 

“I don't like you knowing if you don't got a stake in it.” Cato snarls and something breaks in me, releasing something hot and vile into my bloodstream. I find myself marching forward and grabbing Cato by the arm.

 

“Well, well.” Cato smiles at me. “Look who it is Peeta.” Two bruises have bloomed under each eye. “I've missed you Katniss baby, where you been?” His eyes run down my body and back up again.

 

“Don't you have anything better to do than get in the way of Peeta's education Cato?” I ask, sounding bored.

 

“Eh, he's a smart guy, got all the education he needs.” He winks at me and it makes my skin crawl. “Except maybe when it comes to women, maybe you could help him out with that honey.”

 

I find myself leaning forward. “I'm not your honey,” I say grabbing Peeta's hand and dragging him down the hall as he watches me with wide eyes.

 

“Remember what we talked about Peeta,” Cato calls after us.

 

“Fuck off, Cato,” I say, flipping him off while he leers at me.

 

“Honestly, Peeta,” I grumble as I set him down on a bench by the office. “Stay here,” I command and he swallows hard, but nods.

 

I turn in the piece of paper and am out the door before I can be questioned. Peeta stands so fast I have to skitter backward before he can touch me. “Listen-”

 

“Come on,” I say before he can say anything stupid. “Let’s go.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“To breakfast.”

 

“Won’t we get in trouble?” He asks as I shove the heavy metal doors open and step out into the early morning air.

 

“You call yourself a criminal?” I say haughtily. Quirking my eyebrow.

 

“Actually, only you call me that.” He says.

 

“Come on, Al Capone,” I say pointing at his truck. “I’m starved, you’re driving.”

 

That’s how we end up at the Vista, sitting on the hood of his truck with greasy burgers and french fries, looking out at the ocean glittering in the winter sun, wrapped in jackets and scarves, bundled against the cold. The wind bites at my face but I don’t feel it. My fingers are stiff and I blow on them to work the feeling back into them.

 

“Why do you let him get to you?” I ask the ocean because I don’t want to look at Peeta when I say it.

“Why do you let Haymitch get to you?” He shoots back and I finally look at him, hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. I don’t like those glasses, hiding those ocean eyes from me. I ignore them impulse to reach up and yank them off his face.

 

“I don’t let anyone get to me.” I snap.

 

“Uh-huh.” He says in a tone that tells me he doesn’t believe me. I huff and lean on my elbows, watching the seagulls scream and dip and sail in the air.

 

“Whatever.” I snap, popping a french fry in my mouth. A gull shrieks, the wind blows, I work on making myself still. Because I can feel Peeta’s eyes on me, boring into my very being. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just watches me from behind his glasses. Then he steals a french fry from my lap and I smack his hand away.

 

“Why don’t you like music?” He asks suddenly, the words coming out of him in a rush as if he is afraid they won’t come out.

 

I was waiting for this question, the one I can’t answer. And I don’t answer it, I stare up at the sky and pray he’ll forget he asked it. He doesn’t though, he jostles my shoulder until I glare at him.

 

“Come on, give me something here.” He begs.

 

“I just-” I pause, trying to unjumble the words in my head. My thoughts feel scattered. “I just don’t.”

 

He slurps his soda down to the ice and smiles somewhat cheeky. That fucking smile of his. I want to push him off the truck, how dare he smile at me like that, like he’s thinking something that he can’t say out loud.

 

“Haymitch says you used to play the guitar.” He says in an off-hand way. I shoot up, giving him all the venom I have. “Says you were good, too.” He looks somewhere to my left and smirks

.

“You talk to Haymitch about me?”

 

“Only sometimes.” He shrugs.

 

“When?” I demand, finally growing tired of the glasses and ripping them off his face and tossing them to the side.

 

“It's a small town Katniss, and my parents own the only bakery for miles.”

 

“Well, fuck you both.” I snarl, jumping off the hood of the truck and stalking toward the rock wall, eager to put as much distance as I can between the two of us.

 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Peeta says, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

 

“I’ll stop being like this when you stop being a gossip,” I growl.

 

“You’re really cute when you're mad, you know that?” He says, putting the glasses back on and knowing enough to shut up. Still, my heart falters in my chest. Cute?

 

Fuck, when did I start acting like a schoolgirl? Maybe it's the costume, the plaid skirt. I’ll blame it on the skirt, it’s made me brain-dead. I turn and look out at the ocean before me, stretching out forever, calm in the early afternoon air. It is pristine and blue and endless, like Peeta’s eyes.

I risk a sideways glance at him, pretending not to see me, picking at his burger uncertainly. His curls tousled by the wind, whipping around his face. My bones feel like chalk and my knees like jello and I don’t understand it.

 

Damned it, Katniss.

 

I turn back toward him and stalk forward until I am standing in front of him. I ball the front of his shirt in my fingers and pull him to me. His lips taste like salt and I part them with my tongue, tilting my head as his hands cup my jaw to bring me closer. It's not the sweet, chaste kisses like in his truck, this is different and it burns in my chest. Fire scorching in my stomach as we tangle closer together. It hurts and is beautiful at the same time. His hands are rough and strong and could crush me if he wished, but he doesn’t because his grip on me is so light, I could pull away if I wish.

 

He smells good, like honey and vanilla. His breath is warm against me and it makes my stomach flip deep with within me. My nails scrape his scalp and he moans softly into my mouth. The noise is both intoxicating and heartbreaking. Inside of my head, I fall apart completely. When we finally break apart he is looking at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He glances down and a slow smile breaks across his face. A blush creeping across his neck.

“Cute,” I grumble, a blush of my own creeping across my face.

 

“Katniss.” It sounds like a prayer, breathless and wild.

 

“Fucking, Cute.” I snarl, climbing into the truck and slamming the door behind me with a dull thud. Peeta is still smiling when he climbs into the truck and he doesn’t say anything but I feel his eyes flit between me and the road.

 

XX.XX

“I have something to show you,” Peeta whispers. He twirls his keys around his finger and smiles at me. Damned that smile, damned those dimples. I'm standing in the bussers station, filling salt shakers, Peeta has crammed himself into the tiny room and all I can smell his him, damp from the rain. His moon eyes watching me hopefully, so maybe it's those eyes that make me answer.

 

“Like what?”

 

“It's a surprise.”

 

“I hate surprises,” I grumble, spilling salt all over the counter, my hands, the floor. I huff and grab a broom.

 

“I think you'll like this one.” He has the nerve to wink at me.

 

“I'm off in half an hour,” I mumble and he gives me a megawatt smile.

 

“I'll meet you out back.” He practically whistles out the door.

 

As I watch him leave I catch sight of my uncle watching me with hawk-sharp eyes and a frown plastered to his face.

 

“Sweetheart!” he waves me over and I drop the broom with a groan.

 

“Don't you have a small child to disembowel?” I snap. A woman in the booth closest to me turns to glare at me.

 

“What?” I snarl at her as my uncle grabs hold of my arm and drags me through the floor to the back.

 

Finnick is back here scrubbing dishes. “Somebody got sent to the principle.” He quips.

 

“Ain't paying you for your running commentary, Odair.” My uncle barks.

 

“Sir,” Finnick says with a mocking salute, it makes a small half-smile ghost over my lips.

 

As soon as the door slams behind us my uncle turns on me.

 

“This stops now.”

 

“What stops now?” I try playing stupid, too bad I've never been a very good actress.

 

“This.” He says pointing to my swollen, blackened knuckles. “This, you stay out to all hours of the night, and don't think I haven't noticed you sneaking out of your window at night.” I roll my eyes at him. “If I wanted something to baby I would have gotten a fucking Cocker Spaniel.”

 

“Is that what you wanted?” I shout. “Something to baby?” I feel a white, hot rage edge its way into my vision. “I can take care of myself, I never asked for your pity or your charity. I'm not a child-”

 

“Damned it Katniss, you are a child!” He slams his fist on his desk, rattling the bottle he keeps in his drawer that he thinks is a secret. “You're seventeen.” He says a little softer.

 

“Like I said, I can take care of myself.”

 

“Just because you can doesn't mean you should have to.”He reaches out to me but I duck out of his grasp and glare up at him.

 

“We were doing fine, I didn't need your help.”

 

“Fine? Your mother was practically eating the wallpaper!”

 

“At least she stopped crying all the time. She stopped throwing things. she _was_ getting better!”

 

“And what about you?” He snarls.

 

“What about me?” I say, almost defeated sounding.

 

“Primrose died,” He says suddenly all the air has been sucked out of the room.

 

“I'm very much aware.” I grit out from between clenched teeth.

 

“Prim died. _Prim_. Not you.”

 

“How unfortunate for the rest of us.” My teeth feel like they are being pulled from my head, my bones are shaking under my skin. I can feel the rage seeping into my blood, rolling through me, pounding in my skull like rain against the pavement.

 

“You need to let her go.” My uncle says quietly.

 

“What like you did with Leah?” My voice is low and cold and it hits its mark. He looks like someone has tackled him. He buries his face in his hands.

 

“It's been a long day.” He says quietly.

 

I rip off my apron and throw it on his desk. “I'm going out.”

 

“With Peeta?” Haymitch asks.

 

“Is that a problem?” I snap.

 

“He's a good kid," My Uncle says. My eyes shift to the floor. "You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve him." The words hit me in the chest hard. 

Isn't that the truth. 

I could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him.

 

“I'll be home later,” I say.

 

I slam the door behind me and pretend I don't notice the kitchen staff scurrying away from the door like cockroaches.

 

Finnick waits outside with me, our backs leaned against a dumpster filled with cardboard. He hands me a cigarette and we smoke in companionable silence. Both of us buried beneath jackets as the rain mists over us, soaking our hair.

 

“You know, he's right,” Finnick says, toeing the cement his steel-toed work boots.

 

“Who my uncle?” I snort. Finnick flashes me a smile. “He's drunk,” I say, looking up at the dark sky. Cloud coverage and smog from the nearby city has made it a moonless night. The parking lot is only lit by a few orange lamps that loom in the fog.

 

“Drunk, sure, but right sometimes.”

 

“Whatever,” I grumble.

 

“It'll kill you if you let it," Finnick says suddenly, his eyebrows crinkled in a funny way. Peeta's truck pulls up to us, Finnick wipes his face of emotion.

 

“I should get back inside, check on Annie, don't do anything I wouldn't do.” He leans in close to me, his hot breath tickling my ear. “He really likes you.”

 

“Peeta?” I ask. He nods and turns back to the heavy metal door, disappearing behind it.I turn to regard Peeta, where he checks his hair in his rearview mirror, his fingers sweeping his curls back. They bounce back into place and I can see his annoyed huff through the window. I feel my cheeks pull back and I know I am smiling even though I can’t feel it.

 

I stalk forward and knock on his window. My hair is sticking to my cheeks and I must look stupid, smiling at him like I am. He offers me a small, sheepish smile in return before gesturing to the passenger door.

 

“Where are we going?” I ask as I pull myself up into the truck. Peeta reaches over me and buckles my seatbelt while I glare at him.

 

“It's a surprise, remember?”

 

I can only look at him as he reaches out and tucks the tendril of hair that has plastered to my cheek behind my ear. I feel a shiver pulse down my spine, if it’s from the cold or Peeta, I can’t be sure. He starts the truck and we rumble out of the parking lot, down the street that is aglow with neon lights from fast food restaurants that bleed together into one long streak outside of the window.

 

I feel my fingers twitch toward Peeta and I tuck them under my butt as we fly down the freeway, his truck groaning with the speed. Even though I can feel Peeta’s eyes on me, I don’t look up from my boots until the tires hit gravel.  

 

He pulls onto a muddy dirt road, redwoods towering above us on either side. We pull up to a meadow dotted with tufts of dead grass and dandelion weeds. In the middle sits a trailer, mostly rust, with a roof that is nearly caving in and rotting porch steps.

 

“Where the fuck are we?” I ask and Peeta beams at me.

 

“My new place.”

 

“What?” I don't think I heard him right. “This is your place?” He nods. I don't understand, his parents live across the street, in a nice, clean house with a perfectly manicured lawn. Why would he want to live here?

 

“Why?” I ask, looking at him. He looks a little deflated, running his hands over the steering wheel of his car.

 

“Why not?” He says with a plastic smile. “Mom wanted me out, so I got out.”

 

I suck in a lungful of air, Peeta rarely talks about his parents and I never press him. Some things you just don't talk about. I don't talk about Prim, he never mentions his mother. It's just too painful.

 

“What'd she want you out for?” I try my hand at joking weakly. “Mad the silent alarm bested you, did you tell her you were going for best two out of three?”

 

“She was mad the silent alarm cost me, Stanford,” he says bitterly.

 

“Oh,” I say weakly, looking at my hands.

 

“It's alright,” he says. “I'll clean it up, it'll be nice.”

 

“So are you going to finish school?” I ask, suddenly afraid he won't be there waiting at our lunch spot, reading a book. It makes my heart lurch in my chest.

 

“Yeah, only a few more months till we graduate.” I nod, trying to hide the fact I feel relief prickling my spine.

 

We fall into a weird silence with something humming between us. I fidget nervously in my seat, not sure why my bones feel like they can't sit still.

 

“Katniss.” Peeta rushes suddenly. “I wanted to show you this for a reason.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I wanted you to know, You have somewhere you can go.”

 

I feel as if something prickles my skin. A jolt of electricity that does little to quell the restlessness I feel. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, you're always welcome here if you need it.”

 

“I don't _need_ anything.”

 

“I know, but if you did.”

 

“But I don't.” I'm being petulant, I know this, still, I can't stop from crossing my arms over my chest as Peeta lets out an impatient huff.

 

“I wish I knew what happened to you.” He shakes his head.

 

“No, you don't.”

 

“I want to be your friend, Katniss.” He says. “You make it so hard.”

 

For the first time in a while I think about the night I stood in front of those headlights, Peeta had barreled into me like a train and he hasn't escaped my brain since. I feel my pulse quicken because Peeta is watching me with eyes wide and sad.

 

“No, you don't,” I say again, weaker.

 

“You're in so much pain.” He looks away, watching the rain collect on the windshield.

 

“You don't know anything about me.”

 

“I want to.” He laughs but it sounds bitter. “I want to know everything, I want to know why your favorite smell is oil paint. I want to know why your favorite color is green, and where you go when you look at me like that.” He swallows hard, giving me a look that could level whole civilizations. And in the end, what chance do I stand against it?

 

“If I kiss you, would you hit me?” He asks.

 

“I might,” I say and he blows out air. “But maybe you should just do it and see.” I don't know why I say that maybe it's the rain encasing us that makes me feel safe, or the way his hands twitch toward mine. I find myself leaning forward and not away. I unbuckle my seatbelt as Peeta inches his way over to me.

 

He grasps my braid and lets it slip through his fingers like dark water. He smiles faintly as he looks up at me. His hands come to rest on my neck, then slide their way up to my cheeks. He brushes the hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. Then he carefully runs his fingertips across my cheekbones, across my forehead and back down. I feel a primal ache in my stomach as he pulls me toward him with a feather-light grasp. “You're beautiful.” He whispers reverently.

 

His eyes search mine and I wonder what he's waiting for. I feel my hands ball into fists and my breath hitching in my chest, impatient for impact.

 

“Peeta just ki-”

 

Then his lips are on mine, soft and pliable and he parts my lips with his tongue. He tastes sweet, almost achingly so and he has me trapped against the cool metal of the truck door. His hands tangle in my hair and my fingernails scrape his scalp as he moans in my mouth. He surrounds me.

 

 _Hold me here_ . I beg him internally. _Help me feel something, anything_. I run my fingers down his neck to pull him closer as I tilt my head to feel his breath fan against my cheek. I feel something I thought was long dead flickering in my chest. It swells somewhere beneath my torn up heart and expands until my ribcage protests painfully.

 

All too soon he lets me go, out of breath, his hair sticking up he just watches me with those eyes. I feel bared to the bone. Does he see me for how I am finally? Bottom of the barrel girl with ghosts chasing after her.

 

“Stay with me.” He pleads, tilting my chin upwards, forcing me to look at him. I blink, once, twice. I think I am crying but I'm not sure. I can feel my chin quiver beneath his hands. “Stay here.”

 

Now I am the one trapping him as I crawl forward, balling his shirt in my hands and pressing my lips to his. He has nowhere to go. I'm straddling him and his hands rest on the small of my back, pressing their heat into my long cold skin.

 

“Katniss.” he breathes, “Katniss, wait.”

 

I don't want to wait but I pull back as he looks at me. Those eyes are endless, stretching into mine and boring into my very soul. Then I hear her, her voice like sunlight and fireflies. _“It's going to hurt_ .” My sister whispers. _Oh, Prim, I don't care_. I chant it in my head and after a while, she stops whining in my ear.

 

“There you go again,” Peeta says.

 

“It sure is quiet out here.” I try to change the subject.

 

“You should see it in the springtime,” Peeta says, pulling me off him and resting his arm on the seat behind me. “Wildflowers as far as the eye can see.”

 

I have a fleeting image of myself, standing in the field, hanging sheets on a line. They smell clean and sweet, and catch the wind, billowing around me. Off in the distance, the ocean rages its malcontent to the earth. I can smell the honeysuckle, the lilacs, the daffodils on the wind. It feels like time has stopped here. I hear a truck barreling up the drive and I smile. The wind brushing my hair from my shoulders.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks.

 

“Chocolate cake,” I say with a plastic smile. I might as well have been, that is a future far too decadent for me.

 

“You're a strange girl.” He says.

 

“Oh Peeta,” I say, more to my hands than him. “You have no idea.”

 

 

XX.XX

I am tumbling through the night, pressed against Peeta in the backseat of Finnick's beat up Corolla. I am sandwiched between Peeta and Johanna whose grumbling about Annie's choice in music and me? I watching the diners and shopping malls and car dealerships melt by and try not to notice the way Peeta's fingers are snarled with mine. He gives them an absently-minded squeeze as he stares out of the window and I find a smile creeping up on my face.

 

Johanna reaches over Finnick's shoulder and flicks the station. “That music was offending me.” She grumbles as Beastie Boys 'License to Ill.' plays at a godawful volume. Peeta and Finnick laugh. I feel like I am drenched in chaos.

 

Entropy.

 

We cross the Bay Bridge and I am surrounded by the lights of the city. Houses are painted in vivid colors, bubblegum pinks and lemon yellows and garish orange. They all blur and melt as we drive up hills and back down them again. Peeta rolls his window down and sticks his head out, his curls whip around his face as the salt in the air floods us all. I feel like I can't breathe. I grip his hand tighter, scared he'll let go.

 

We end up on the Bart, taking us underwater and into the city proper. Soon we are at the edge of Market Street, looking into a crowd of thousands. I grip Peeta like he'll disappear. “Welcome to Worldfest,” Finnick says with a wink.

 

People are all around us, some sprayed in brightly colored powder. Lights flicker gold and red and pink around us. The music is alive and creeping up inside of me. The mass of bodies writhes and jolts to a song with heavy bass. A woman wearing a leather jacket and little else pushes passed the group of us and disappears into the sea. The drums beat on, Finnick is swallowed by the crowd, then Annie, who has tight hold of his hand.

 

“You ready?” Peeta asks.

 

Oh Peeta, am I ever? But I nod anyway as he drags me into the crowd. All I can smell is rank sweat and aqua spray. A woman with a sea green mohawk jumps in place. We shove our way through the bodies until we are in the thick of it. Trumpets blare, a woman sings, her voice low and lovely.

 

I could die in here.

 

I find myself being thrown around by the crowd, and I tell myself I can't really help it when I unravel my braid and let my hair fall around my shoulders. I can't help it when I throw my hands over my head and move my hips along with the throbbing beat. I tell myself I never could help pulling Peeta down to press his lips against mine.

 

He feels like opium burning in my blood, making me slow and tired. My hands slide up his chest and rest around his neck as he pulls me close and for a moment everything goes silent, the crowd disappears and the music stills and all I feel is him, surrounding me, making me somewhat whole again. My eyes slide shut, even though I don't want them to because I want to see him. I feel like I am floating away.

 

Then our lips part and I fall back to earth.

 

Peeta is looking at me like he can't see anything else.

 

My eyes are stuck on a girl with caramel braids standing just behind him. She has pink powder dusted across her face and she smiles at me. I choke back a startled sob, then I blink and she's someone else. She doesn't have braids, she's taller, older, not my sister.

 

I pull Peeta through the crowd, in dire need for air. We pull through the stragglers and land on the sidewalk between a Chinese laundry and an Italian restaurant. Neon lights blink and pulse in their windows. I gulp in smoggy air.

 

“Are you okay?” Peeta asks. “Did I do something wrong?” Of course, someone as good as Peeta would think he did something wrong. In a way, he did, but he isn't at fault, I am. I let him creep inside of me, work his way into my blood. He made me feel something. And selfish me, I wanted him to. It is the ultimate betrayal to my sister.

 

I fall against him, my head hitting his chest. I press my face into his shirt and breath sharp and rhythmic, trying to right myself.

 

“Hey, it's okay,” Peeta whispers into my ear, pulling me closer and I don't have the energy to pull away. I look up at him through my eyelashes, he's rubbing soft circles into my back and looking down at me, worried.

 

“Its okay, its okay, its okay.” I chant. I look around me and all I see are the towering skyscrapers looming over me, dark and forbidding. I try to suck in a lungful of air but it gets caught in my throat. I feel my knees going weak as I twist around, trying to find something familiar.

 

“Hey, Hey.” Peeta croon, his arms wrapping around my middle and pulling my back against him. His arms like vices around my waist. “It's a panic attack.” He whispers in my ear. “Try to breathe. Nice and slow, okay.”

 

“O-okay.” I stammer out, trying to focus on his arms grounding me in place. We stay that way for a while, but then, he starts to sing, off-key, a soft whisper in my ear.

 

“ _A man walks down the street_

_He says why am I soft in the middle now_

_Why am I soft in the middle_

_The rest of my life is so hard_

_I need a photo-opportunity_

_I want a shot at redemption_

_Don't want to end up a cartoon_

_In a cartoon graveyard_

_Bonedigger Bonedigger_

_Dogs in the moonlight_

_Far away my well-lit door_

_Mr. Beerbelly Beerbelly_

_Get these mutts away from me_

_You know I don't find this stuff amusing anymore.”_

It's a song I recognize, Paul Simon, one of my father's favorites and he's butchering it. But his voice is a sandpaper growl, I can't help but listen, stuck inside of his arms like a fly in a spider web. He has me cornered like pray.

 

I’ve spent so much time running from how I feel.

 

I’m so tired.

 

For a moment, I wish I was a zombie, like my mother.

 

But wishes in this world are futile.I turn around to face Peeta, looking at me with those blue eyes. I feel my chin trembling and I suck my lips into my mouth and bite down on them till I taste metallic blood.

 

“See? You’re gonna be okay.” He breathes.

 

I’ve been so mean to him. Words can slice as easily as a knife and I didn’t stop till I drew blood, over and over. He’s always been kind, gracious even. I’ve spent my life walking with wolves. I’ve never been scared of anyone before.

 

But every ounce of me fears Peeta.

 

He can break me in a way I never thought was possible.

 

“Peeta?” I finally croak out. He takes his time adjusting the collar of my shirt, humming at me.

 

“I’m sorry,” I say.

 

He looks confused.

 

“For what?”

 

For biting his head off all the time. For not liking Delly. For fucking Darius on the beach then snapping at him when who I was mad at was myself. For creeping up to him then jolting back when he gets too close like a stray dog.

 

The list goes on.

 

I'll be more sorry when I do it again.

 

“For everything,” I say softly. “I’m sorry I’m awful.” my voice is an empty whisper.

 

“Katniss,” He says, finally finished with my shirt, giving me a crooked smile. “It’s forgotten.”

I don’t deserve his forgiveness, but I’ll take it anyway.

 

“Would you sing to me again?” I ask, my voice cracking.

 

He smiles as if I’ve just handed him the sun.

 

“Of course.”

 

XX.XX

 

Sometime later, we find Finnick in the crowd, Both he and Annie covered in blue paint, Finnick has lost his shirt somewhere in the crowd and Johanna is practically climbing a boy in a studded belt. He reminds me of Gale, tall and lanky, slender as a knife with dark hair that falls carelessly in his eyes. Her legs are wrapped with his and I can't tell where he ends and she begins. I look away, my face hot. I feel tears prick the back of my eyes but I blink them back.

Do they feel it? That something inside of me has died? Over and over, it wilts inside of me like a flower in the summer sun. How many deaths can one person survive? Peeta has his hand tangled with mine and kisses my hair when no one is looking. We get breakfast at an all-night diner. We drink gas station coffee and watch the sun come up over the hills from the wharf, where sea lions bark and dive.

San Francisco wakes to another smoggy day and we walk Haight and Ashbury. Finnick takes us to a record store and finally, we land in Dolores Park where we sleep away the mid-morning on the rolling hills of dewy green.

When we finally drive out of the city we hit traffic, Finnick grumbles as we get stuck for hours on the bridge. My head feels heavy and I tell myself I can't really help it when I lean against Peeta, breathing in vanilla and almost instantly fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Peeta sings is You Can Call Me Al by Paul Simon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't say anything but I can almost feel the shrug of her shoulders. When I find the courage to open my eyes she is looking at me with those big, blue eyes. Blue eyes that will never see New York, or Paris or Berlin. She'll never go to college or dance in a company, she'll never see the ocean or learn to drive or kiss a boy, not ever.
> 
>  
> 
> Why should I?

_ The Hambry hotel used to be swanky, at least that's what Ripper called it. Said in the forties it boasted red velvet carpets and spotlights and doormen. It's decayed now, half of it burned down in the eighties and what didn't house welfare cases and people desperate for cheap rent. The doors are always thrown open, even in the dead of winter and needles and garbage litter its floors, muggers prowl the halls that smell like cat piss and mildew. _

 

_ I look up the charred remains and try to piece together how it looked so long ago when it was new but all I can see is the charred remains. It's only a matter of time until the city knocks it down to build something new. A woman is chattering in Russian in the doorway, her lips a bright blood red. She sees me staring at glares at me. I force my feet to move forward. Finding a crumbling cinder block that will make a nice seat and settle in for the morning. _

 

_ I pull my father's guitar from its worn out leather case, relishing the heaviness of it in my hands. Thom pushes back his porkpie hat with his thumb and eyes me warily, the trumpet in his hand poised to be brought up to his lips as he quirks his eyebrow in my direction. I ignore him and focus on tuning my guitar as Prim presses her body against mine, hoping to suck up a little of my warmth. Her jacket is threadbare and mine is worse, but still, I press my shoulder against her hoping some of my heat might transfer to her. _

 

_ At first, Gale and Thom were terribly annoyed that she was always tagging along with me. But what other choice did I really have? Leave her alone with the ghost that sits blank-faced on the couch? No, better she sticks with me on the cold street corner than sitting at home trying to rouse Mom from her stupor. “She's gonna get in the way.” Gale had groused as I plucked at my guitar. Then Prim smiled shyly at a woman in a fur coat as we started to play. The woman dropped a five in my case and they both shut up real quick. _

 

“ _ Tangled up in blue?” Thom asks, but I am not listening, too busy running my fingers over the taut guitar strings. “Katniss?” He kicks my shoe to get my attention and I feel my eyes snap up. “Tangled up in blue?” He asks again, annoyed. _

 

“ _ No,” I say, entranced by the silver cloud of breath coming out of my mouth. “No, Graceland,” I say. _

 

“ _ Graceland, it is.” He nods to Gale, who holds his harmonica at the ready. _

 

_ I start to play and for a moment I am not me, not starving, not sad, not anything. For a moment I wonder if this is what my mother feels like when she disappears inside of herself. A few people stop to listen as I start to sing. I tell them that I am on my way to Graceland, Memphis Tennessee. I can't stop the slow smile spreading across my face as I belt it out with all my heart. This song always reminded me of my father. He'd play the album loud in the car on summer evenings and we'd both sing along with the windows down, not caring who could hear us. _

 

_ The song ends and I jolt, remembering that I am not with my father in the car but on a cold street corner in front of the old Hambry hotel, sitting on a cinder block, with the addict and dregs of the city on a school morning. _

 

“ _ That was good.” Prim chirps from next to me. I reach out my hand numb with cold and tweak her little nose, red and chapped. _

 

“ _ Thanks, Little Duck,” I say. Thom grumbles something but it's drowned out by the distant ranting of old man Snow. I can see his stooped figure on the steps that lead up to the yawning mouth of a front door. Thom sighs and Gale kicks a piece of Cinder block and glares at the old man. _

 

“ _ Come on, guys.” I pipe up, my throat raw. “Let's play, Keep me in your heart.” _

 

“ _ Katniss is keeping it light today Thom,” Gale grumbles under his breath. _

 

“ _ Fuck you, Hawthorne.” I snap back. _

 

“ _ Katniss, be nice.” Prim pipes up and I roll my eyes, but I shut my mouth and focus on the song in front of me like I always have. _

 

_ The noise from the Hambry behind us is a sad static of white noise. I hear Mrs. Flynn's radio from her open window, I hear children yelling happily, and Snow is there too, in the background, as for me, I am singing breathlessly, somewhere in the mix. _

 

“ _ Shadows are falling and I'm running out of breath _

_ Keep me in your heart for awhile _

_ If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less _

_ Keep me in your heart for awhile _

_ When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun _

_ Keep me in your heart for awhile _

_ There's a train leaving nightly called when all is said and done _

_ Keep me in your heart for awhile .” _

 

_ For a moment it all blends together in my head and I can't distinguish my voice from the radio, Gale's harmonica or Snows yelling. More people stop, my fingers are so numb that I rip a nail and I don't notice when the blood begins to drip onto the pavement. _

 

_ I stop playing, my voice fades away, someone steps over Prim like she is a crack in the pavement, not sparing her a glance. _

 

“ _ That was so pretty Katniss.” Prim claps. _

 

_ It catches Snow's attention and by the time I am snapping my guitar case closed he has come over and is watching us with big, dark eyes. I swing the case over my shoulder and eye Thom and Gale as they work on splitting the whole twelve dollars we made. By the time I look back to Prim he has her back against a wall. _

 

“ _ Hey, there Little Princess.” He says with a wolfish smile. I feel my feet going forward, my spine straightening and my chin jut forward. _

 

“ _ Get lost, old man.” I snarl, pushing my way between him and my sister. He leers at me, black holes for eyes. He is so close I can smell his breath, all rotten teeth, and wine. I push him backward and he barely budges, surprisingly solid for such a weathered old man. _

 

_ Prim seems to have sensed the tension in the air and gives a small whimper from behind me. I feel her fingers reaching for my hand and I give her a gentle squeeze. _

 

“ _ Keep eye on her, big sister.” He sneers, peeking around me to wink at Prim. “Easy to lose a dear heart like that.” He gives her a smile. The sores on his face glint in the morning light and his lips are puffy and red where he has chewed them raw. _

 

“ _ I said get lost,” I say, though my voice has started to waver. I want nothing more than to shrink away from him and he must sense it because his eyes turn on me. For a long moment, we both just look at each other. I am pressing Prim between the wall and myself, feeling my heart climbing my throat. All too soon, Snow chuckles to himself, like this has been a big joke and turns, meandering up the street and passed Gale and Thom who stare after him. _

 

“ _ Everything alright, Catnip?” Gale asks. _

 

“ _ Yeah, Gale,” I say, swallowing the hard lump in my throat. I turn to Prim and force a smile too wide for my face. “Prim,” My voice comes out harsh and raspy. “You can't let him see your fear, not ever.” I push her bangs back from her face. _

 

“ _ He's sad.” She says, staring after him. _

 

“ _ Prim,” I chastise. “You can't-” _

 

“ _ No, he's alone in the world,” She's giving me a begging look and for a moment it swallows me whole. He's right, my sister has a vulnerability that can't be kicked from her, not by poverty, not by the seam, not by life. “He's just sad.” She insists. For a second I am so scared for my sister I am frozen in place. _

 

“ _ Maybe you're right,” I say as Gale pushes a few dollar bills in my hand. I let out a heaving sigh, grabbing my sister's hand. “Come on, Gobble guts, it's time for breakfast.” _

 

_ And the encounter from earlier is forgotten when I take her to the bakery down the street and let her pick out a day old bagel from their half-off basket. She chews happily as I ignore the gnawing hunger deep in the pit of my stomach. _

 

_ But the fear is there, taking root somewhere dark and deep in the pit of me. My sister is good, and sweet and soft. Radiating kindness like candlelight, and somewhere, at some time, someone will snuff it out. _

 

_ I can't save her. _

 

XX.XX

 

 

I always end up back at the ocean, staring at the seagulls that dip and scream. I make a game of collecting feathers and shells from the beach as I pace the shoreline restlessly, like a bird about to take flight. The ocean remains ever faithful, staying same but always changing at the same time. There is something calming about watching the white foam crash against the land and slink its way back like an obstinate lover. It brings me the smallest amount of comfort to see that the ocean is as indecisive as I am. The smallest, hidden part of me wants to chase them but my feet refuse to move and I have a book to finish, so I plop myself on the sand and disappear inside. Hiding in plain sight.

 

Then when the night makes it hard to see I crawl home and put my seashore finds on my dresser in a line, wishing I could show them to Prim. A thought that makes my heart go numb, piece by piece until I fall into a shallow sleep wrought with nightmares and screaming at blood darkening the asphalt. When I wake screaming there is no one to comfort me.

 

Like my mother, it's up to me to do the comforting.

 

I feel myself slipping into apathy, a cool shell I can tuck myself into where I can forget the absent mother and the father that never came home. I pace some more, watching the sameness of the gray waves, wishing I could crawl into the cool water and fall into the darkness, disappear completely.

 

Sometimes my sister's ghost sits with me and I can't think of anything to say so we remain in the quiet, but sometimes her head falls onto my shoulder and I feel a smile skirt its way onto my lips. Can you feel a ghosts weight? I swear I can. I can feel the silk of her hair and softness of her cheek against my neck.

 

I don't dare whisper a word of her to anyone, hoarding her to myself, even in these tiny, stolen moments.

 

When I walk home with sand in my hair and my book tucked into my bag and aching bones I notice the Christmas lights that snake their way around the houses. I didn't even realize it was Christmas already.

 

When my silence is too much to bear Effie drags me out to look at the shops. She prattles on as I follow after her, buried inside of my jacket. We pass by the bakery and I feel my heart lurch in my chest. I haven't seen Peeta in weeks, since we went to San Francisco and I unlocked my hand with his to climb out of the car, slamming the door behind me with finality. My traitorous heart cannot be trusted with him, it weakens at his stare. I'm already broken irrevocably, I can't afford any more fractures or fault lines. Survival is what's important and Peeta will break me.

 

“Pick up the pace Katniss,” Effie trills and I roll my eyes at the back of her head. “I saw that, young lady.” She snaps and I roll my eyes again just to piss her off. “Come on, I need to pick up those raspberry tarts your uncle loves so much.”

 

“You  _ need _ to?” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. She turns on her heel sharply to stare at me.

 

“Stand up straight, you're not doing your back any favors,” She says, jabbing her finger at me. I heave out a sigh but stand a tiny bit straighter. “Good girl, now come on.” She holds the door open for me and I stall, my feet sputtering to a stop.

 

“I don't know, Effie.” I eye the door nervously. “I think I'll wait out here.”

 

“It's freezing.” She grumbles and I shuffle forward taking my sweet time. She gets annoyed and shoves me forward, pushing me inside.

 

“That was rude.” I snap and she ignores me, staring at the display case filled with cakes. I take in the interior, which is light and airy. Crisp white paint and blue flowers everywhere. Small tables with lace covers and a chalkboard that displays their prices.

 

“Hi, Katniss,” I jolt like I am waking up. My eyes slide down until they lock with his. “What can I get for you?” There is an edge in his voice but his face is passive. His arms crossed over his chest and he scratches at his bicep.

 

“Uh,” I say, like an idiot. I feel my cheeks redden, hot humiliation burning in the pit of my stomach.

 

“Take your time,” Peeta says evenly, smiling tightly.

 

“Hot Chocolate.” I blurt, cringing inwardly. Peeta chuckles and seems to relax slightly. He moves behind the counter, steaming milk.

 

“I always took you as a coffee girl,” He says as he works. I let it fall between us, not answering him until he places the steaming paper cup in front of me.

 

“Thanks,” I mumble weakly. “How much?” I pull out a few crumpled ones from my pocket and he waves it away.

 

“On the house.” He says simply, moving to help Effie with her tart. I stand there for a moment, locked in place, hold out my money to the empty air. I feel something akin to anger flare in my blood.

 

He's boxing up the tart when I gain my feet, stomping forward and thrusting my money out and dumping it onto the counter. Effie looks horrified and Peeta just stares at it with something like amusement. Does he find this funny? Is this a game to him? Does he enjoy making me owe him things? I shake my head to clear it.

 

“Katniss, manners!” Effie scolds but I don't spare her a glance.

 

“Are we good?” I sneer as Peeta stares at the crumpled, dirty ones on his clean counter. His eyes lock on mine. For another tense moment, we stare at each other and I raise my eyebrows in defiance. I can't be the one who breaks the gaze. I'm not weak and he needs to know it.

 

“Yeah,” Peeta says finally, grabbing the money and tossing it on the register. “We're good.” He says and the resignation in his voice is like ice dripping down my spine. I give him a stiff nod and disappear out the door.

 

Outside is so cold it steals my breath, still it doesn't ache as much as the resolve in Peeta's voice. The hot chocolate is pouring warmth into my stiff fingers and I take a long sip, sighing against the lip of my cup.

 

It's rich and smooth and tastes like heaven. I can't help the hum I give when the warmth hits my stomach. I brave a glance toward the bakery, inside Peeta is ringing up Effie and neither of them speaks. As she leaves he peeks up and I tear my eyes away and drop them to the ground.

 

“Katniss, I have never-” Effie stops abruptly.

 

“What?” I snap, not daring to look up at her.

 

“You have whipped cream on your nose.” She says stiffly, sniffing and pulling me forward.

 

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

It's a party, or at least that's what Finnick tells me when he hands me a red cup filled with beer and smirks down at me. I stare down into my cup as he bumps his shoulder with mine and tells me to mingle. He saunters over to the boombox and picks out a song, slow and sweet and grabs Annie from the crowd. Her arms wind around his neck and her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck as her face pressed into his chest. I sigh, setting my drink down on a desk held together with duct tape. I cross the living room in three quick strides and push open a sliding glass door that leads to a balcony.

 

It's quiet out here, the only noise for miles is the distant hum of the freeway and a barking dog from a nearby apartment. I lean against the railing and look down to the street below. It's cold but I don't mind. The street below is packed with people Christmas shopping, laden down with bags, darting this way and that.

 

I don't really feel myself climbing up the railing, I'm just suddenly sitting on it, my feet hanging over the edge. It is a clear night and the stars drip light from above. All I can do is look at the wide expanse of the night sky and feel small and disturbingly empty. I tug on my braid as I watch the stars glitter.

 

I kick my feet that dangle below me. It would take such little effort to fall, then boom, nothing. How nice that sounds, to never feel anything again. No dead sister, No questions I can't answer. No looming emptiness. Just Nothing.

 

Just an inch more and it would all be over.

 

“Don't jump.” A voice whispers from behind me. I whirl around and see Peeta leaning against the door frame, red and green lights glowing against his hair. He has a small package in one hand and a cup of beer in the other. I turn back to the street and look down longingly.

 

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

 

“What are you doing here?” Peeta shoots back.

 

“Needed some fresh air.” I am still looking at the street that's why I don't see him cross the balcony and lean next to me. I jolt at the heat of him so close, he catches my elbow to steady me. I eye him for a moment, not sure what his intentions might be.

 

He looks over the edge and cringes. “Quite a drop.” He says conversationally.

 

“I guess,” I mumble.

 

“I got this for you.” He rushes out, setting the small thin package on the railing between us. I feel my eyebrows knit together angrily.

 

“What for?” I demand, pushing it back at him.

 

“It's Christmas.” He explains evenly, shoving it back at me. “So, Merry Christmas, you grinch.”

 

I snatch it up and rip open the paper, it is a long velvet box, I open the lid and gasp. It's the necklace I was looking at when I first saw him, the small bird with the pearl dripping from its mouth. I falter, the chain nearly slips from my grasp but I claw at it with a sweaty hand.

 

“Peeta.” I choke out.

 

“Merry Christmas.” He says again, looking unsure.

 

I hear distant laughter from inside, Finnick yells something and the crowd cheers. I look down again at the street below, the cracked cement and the people jaywalking. I'm suddenly dizzy and I snap my eyes shut.

 

“It's a long way down,” Peeta says, taking a drink from his cup. My eyes stay shut, the blackness of my lids soothing. “What a lonely fall.”

 

“What if you don't have a choice?” My voice sounds small, far away. “But to fall,” I explain weakly.

 

 

“Katniss, there is always a choice,” His voice is thick and rich. “Maybe not a good one, but a choice nonetheless.”

 

I don't dare open my eyes until I hear the sliding glass door shuts gently behind him. With shaking hands, I climb down from the railing. I want to scream and rage but I just slide to my knees, clutching desperately to the necklace. I don't know how long I stay there, a decaying desolation spreading through me like a stain.

 

_ Save me! _ A voice screams in my head. Who I am begging I couldn't know. I feel myself lose my proverbial footing, the world spins beneath me. The wind catches my hair. I try to suck in whatever air I can.

 

I feel like I did the morning Prim died, running down the street, my feet pumping, my chest heaving for air. Then, there she is, laying face up in the street, a strangled sob wrenching from her chest. Those ballet shoes tangled together on her backpack, soaked in red.

 

“Save yourself.” Prim's voice pipes up, soft in my head. “What other choice do you have?”

 

 

XX.XX

 

Gale calls on Christmas Eve and I do little more than answering his questions when he asks and listen as he proudly states he was able to get Posy a bike from goodwill this year and that he painted it pink and how she'll be so happy. I feel a lump in my throat at his words. I'll never buy Prim a bike, or take her shopping for a prom dress, or watch her graduate from high school.

 

I'm so jealous I could scream and it makes my answers clipped and short, by the time I hang up I am in a foul mood and I snap at Effie when she asks me if I'll help her with the roast. Dinner is a quiet affair and I count the seconds until I can escape up the stairs to the safety of my room.

 

When I finally do I sit on my windowsill, the cool skin of the pearl around my neck pressed to my feverish lips. With nowhere to go, I stare out my window, trapped in my cage, nowhere to go.

 

I find my eyes sliding over to the house across the street, lit up with warm light, a string of happy lights wrapped around it, blinking happily, I wonder how Peeta is faring in his tiny trailer. If he is all alone. Suddenly I drop the pearl and am climbing down, dropping to the floor with a soft thud. I grab my bag and bolt down the stairs. I fill a paper plate with food and eye Effie with trepidation.

 

“Can I borrow your car?” I ask Effie, whose busy cutting into an apple pie.

 

“What for?”

 

“I just-” I feel my heart stutter. “I just need to go for a drive.”

 

“Well, drive safe then.” but by the time she finishes her sentence I am already halfway out the door with her keys jangling in my hand.

 

It takes me three tries to find the tiny dirt road. I pull up to the trailer in time to see his lights go out. I keep the headlights on so I can find my way. I knock on the door and step back as the light flickers on. Peeta opens the door and stands there shirtless, with mussed hair. Looking like he might have seen a ghost.

 

“What are you doing here?” He asks and my mouth flopped open then shut. What am I doing here? I don't know what I am doing here, only that I was worried he was here, all alone on Christmas Eve. I was right, but what do I do about it now? What do I say?

 

“I brought you dinner,” I say quickly, thrusting the soggy plate at him. He eyes it carefully before taking it from me.

 

“Thanks.” He says, “Um, let me grab a shirt.” He hands me back the plate before disappearing behind the door, he comes back in a plain white shirt and his curls and brushed neatly back into place. He motions for me to sit on the porch steps and I do, tucking my fingers between my knees. He eats pieces of roast with his fingers and sops up the gravy with his bread. I watch the sky while he eats and we don't say anything.

 

“That was delicious.” He says finally, setting the empty plate between us.

 

“I just-” I don't really know what I am trying to say so I fall silent, his eyes are watching me and it takes great effort not to look at him. I can feel his eyes boring into me, boiling my blood.

 

“What did I do wrong?” He rushes to get out suddenly. “I-I don't understand.” I relent and look at him sharply. Of course, someone as good as Peeta thinks he did something. I feel my voice catch in my throat. I want to tell him he has done nothing, been nothing but kind. Its me that did something wrong. I'm selfish and sad, and searching desperately for a handhold, something to make me  _ want _ again, and he got caught up in the trap. In the fear of being hurt, I have inadvertently hurt Peeta and I hadn't meant to, but intentions mean little.

 

“I mean,” Peeta tries again. “I thought we were okay, then San Francisco happened and you dropped off the face of the Earth.” I feel myself sigh beneath his words.

 

“It wasn't you.” I feel my lip tremble and I bite it to keep him from seeing. “I just, I'm wrong.” I stare at my hands. Peeta is silent for a long time before bumping his shoulder against mine.

 

“What makes you say that?” He asks. I just shrug my shoulders.

 

“I just am.”

 

“You really have no idea do you?” He is shaking his head, a small half-smile creeping across his face. “The effect you can have on people.” I just shrug my shoulders again.

 

“This pain, Katniss,” I feel his finger brush the underside of my chin and I let it tilt my head upward. “ It won't last forever.”

 

“How do you know that?” I demand it, but my voice cracks and I am horrified by it. I rip my chin away from his grasp and I tuck myself into a ball, knees pressed to my chest.

 

“I just do,” We fall into quiet again, but it feels okay. I set my head on my knees and look out at little tufts of dandelions that dot his driveway. It's a long time before Peeta speaks again. “Someday, it'll get easier, you'll see.” Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.

 

I stand on numb legs. “I should go,” I say, looking at the dirt and not him. “I don't know why I came here,” I mumble, kicking the ground.

 

“Katniss,” Peeta is on his feet, practically chasing me as I rush to the car. “Katniss!” He grabs me by the elbow and swings me around to look at him. Something dead spreads inside of me at the look on his face. His eyes look wild as they search mine. “Just, don't be stupid.” I feel my chest cave in like decayed wood.

 

“I'll try.” I bite out. “Can't promise anything though.” He barks out a humorless laugh.

 

“Always the optimist, you are,” I nod. “Just stay safe, please.”

 

“I'll try.” I open the door of the car and get in.

 

“Thanks again for the dinner.” He says softly as I bang my head against the steering wheel. Why did I come here? I feel the palm of my hand slam against the horn and it lets out a sharp yelp. I back out without looking at Peeta, but I know he's watching me.

 

The car is speeding down the freeway, I'm going too fast and I know this but I can't seem to lift my foot from the petal. I focus on my headlights as they swing around curves and illuminate trees and clumps of bushes at the side of the road.

 

What does Peeta know about the pain I feel? The constant throb and ache in the emptiness of my chest. I don't realize I am crying until I have to blink them away and my vision blurs. I feel a scream rip itself out of my chest but it sounds so far away, I think it couldn't possibly have come from me.

 

I turn the steering wheel violently and finally ease my foot off the gas, slowing to a stop on the side of the road, I sob vehemently into the steering wheel. My braid has come apart and hair falls into my face. I pound my fist on the dashboard and it immediately starts to throb.

 

“Good job, you killed it.” Prim's voice says from next to me.

 

My eyes screw shut and I feel my sobs soften to a hiccup until I am just sitting with my face pressed into the steering wheel.

 

“He's right you know,” She says and I let out a heaving sigh, ignoring her completely. “It would be easier if you just let me go.”

 

“How?” I say brokenly, my eyes stinging and tired.

 

She doesn't say anything but I can almost feel the shrug of her shoulders. When I find the courage to open my eyes she is looking at me with those big, blue eyes. Blue eyes that will never see New York, or Paris or Berlin. She'll never go to college or dance in a company, she'll never see the ocean or learn to drive or kiss a boy, not ever.

 

Why should I?

 

 

Then she leans forward and presses a soft kiss into my forehead. Her lips feel so real that my eyes slide shut in the comforting warmth of them. When my eyes finally open again, she's gone, but that isn't right because she wasn't here in the first place.

 

She's just a figment. A poor substitute for the real thing. I wait for the anger, but that has burned out of me. The decayed collapse from earlier is all I feel.

 

I drive home with the window down and when I pull into the drive I wipe my face and pull my hair back into its braid. Effie doesn't say anything as I set her keys into the glass bowl by the door. I climb the stairs stopping to stare at the small treasures I've collected that sit, growing dust on top of my dresser.

 

I cross the room and fall on my bed. Falling asleep almost immediately.

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

I get a cell phone for Christmas and I am not exactly sure what to do with it. I keep it in my pocket and keep it there and it barely moves from its hiding spot. That's why I am surprised when it rings. I'm so surprised in fact, I just stare at it until it goes quiet again. A few moments later it buzzes to life and I slowly press it to my ear.

 

“H-hello?” I ask. I hear a deep laugh from the other line and grumble to myself. Of course, it is Finnick.

 

“Can Kitty come out to play?” He asks.

 

“Nope.” I pop my lips on the P.

 

“Aw, you're no fun,” I swivel around in my chair to see my uncle looking at me. “What's your excuse this time?”

 

“I have homework,” I mumble sliding down in my seat.

 

“It's winter break,” He exclaims. “Try again.”

 

“I don't want to.” I snap.

 

“Too bad, I'm outside, get in the car.” The line goes dead.

 

A few minutes later I have my hoodie on and am climbing into Finnick's car. He smirks at me triumphantly. “Fancy meeting you here.” He says, popping his gum.

 

“Guess it pays to call in advance.” I snort.

 

“Only sometimes.” He says cheerily. I roll my eyes at him.

 

“Where are we going?” I ask.

 

“Eh, it's a surprise.”

 

“We've talked about surprises.” I snap.

 

“Well, then,” He says smirking at me. “Guess its time we talked about something else.” The car lurches forward and I slump down in my seat.

 

We drive for what feels like hours in silence, Finnick tapping his finger on his steering wheel in time with the song playing. I stare at the window and refuse to look at him. He finally slows the car to a crawl on a residential street and turns down the radio.

 

“So, what happened in Frisco?” he asks and I cringe.

 

“None of your business.”

 

“You say that a lot.”

 

“I mean it too.”

 

“No need to get so salty, sassy pants.” I pull the hood over my head and ball my fists into the pocket, hell-bent on ignoring him.

 

“Katniss,” He grumbles trying to pull the hood off my head. I pull it back into place. “Kat-niss,” He tries again in a sing-song voice.

 

“Leave me alone.” I finally spit.

 

“Oh, you mad Kitty Kat?”

 

“Yes, I'm mad!” I shout it in his face, immediately cringing back against the seat. I hadn't meant to yell and it seems like my voice echoes through the entire car.

 

“What are you mad about?” he asks evenly as if I didn't just scream in his face, as if we're having a completely normal conversation.

 

“Everything.” The word falls from my lips and tumbles between us before I have a chance to stop it. Finnick gives me a crooked smile.

 

“There is a good start, but we do have to be somewhere, so let me ask.” His eyes dart between the road and me. “Why are you mad at Peeta?”

 

“I'm not mad at Peeta,” I sneer.

 

“I thought you were mad at everything,”

 

“I lied,” I grumble, looking at my fingernails.

 

“I never took you for a liar, Katniss,” Finnick says, turning onto the freeway. I glare out of my window.

 

“Well, I am,” I say and it's true. I lied to Prim, I told her she'd be fine. She wasn't fine, she died. A small voice in my head chants that it's my fault. There I am again, racing down the street. My heart pounding in my chest, streaking down the sidewalk in front of the Hambry hotel.

 

Snow leers at me, two black holes for eyes.

 

“You think you're the first person who's felt like this?”

 

“Please, Finnick, enlighten me.” I sneer. “How the fuck do I feel!”

 

“Like the world is ending.” He says gently, pulling off to the side of the road. Yanking the keys from the ignition he turns to face me. “Like the whole world is dying and you're the only one who can see it?”

 

I feel my inside crumble like ash. Angry tears bite at the backs of my eyes and a pesky lump has formed at the back of my throat. I feel a lone tear trailing down my cheek and I swipe at it with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

 

“Am I in the ballpark?” He snaps when I don't speak. I don't say anything, I don't move, afraid that if I do I will fall apart completely.

 

He turns and looks out the windshield, biting his lip. “Did you know my mother killed herself?” He states flatly with eyebrows raised.

 

I feel my mouth flop open then shut, my mind fluttering for some word, any word. “N-no.” I get out finally.

 

“I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad.” He says softly.

 

I look out the window, at the fog rolling in from the ocean that blankets everything, making it hard to make out anything around us. The silence stretches on for a long time before he speaks again. “She didn't leave a note.” He says, his voice so quiet that I have to lean forward to hear him. “Why didn't she leave a note?” His eyebrows knit together and his eyes slink upward until he's looking right at me.

 

“How old were you?” I ask, my voice thick with tears.

 

“Eight.” He says flatly.

 

“I'm sorry,” I say, even though I know it is absolutely useless, as he smiles bitterly.

 

“I kept thinking that maybe I was the reason, maybe if I had been better,” His voice trails off slowly.

 

] It feels like something black and feral is ripping into my ribcage, exposing that soft thing I work so hard to keep hidden.

 

He starts the car, we start driving, but I feel like I have left a small part of me back on the side of the road with the weeds. If that is a good thing or not has yet to be determined. We drive in silence some more, but it feels lighter.

 

“So why are you mad at Peeta?” He tries again, I shrug my shoulders and stare at the dashboard, not daring to speak the truth. I am mad at Peeta, I'm livid because he's wormed his way inside and made me feel.

 

That isn't something you forgive.

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

 

Its New years eve and I let Finnick bully me into the bar, where Johanna and Annie are dancing in the crowd, spinning each other in circles. I hang back near the jukebox and watch them, drinking my lukewarm beer. I keep a lookout for honey curls and blue eyes but they seem to be absent and I try to ignore the way my gut twists at the thought.

 

 

 

 

 

The clock ticks on and people move past me like I am not here, maybe I am not, maybe this is the hallucination. Maybe I am still on that street corner, shaking my sister's shoulder demanding that she stand up. Maybe her eyes are still staring up sightlessly at the sky.

 

 

“Come dance with me Kitty.” Finnick is trying to drag me out on the dance floor but I shake him off and eventually, he gives up. As it nears midnight the crowd swells with people and I have to go outside to get air, someone is wearing too much cologne and it makes me sick to my stomach.

 

I sit on the porch with people smoking on the porch and focus on taking small, shallow breaths through my nose to calm the pounding of my heart.

 

I can hear the crowd countdown and I feel my palms sweat. Another year alive, without Prim, without her light I can only hope to stumble blindly through the dark. I swear I can see every empty year stretched out before me, identical and barren.

 

This is all there is for me.

 

A cheer goes up and I know the clock has struck midnight, but I can still hear the distant siren call of the sea. I force my legs forward and walk down a worn out path until I am at the beach. My legs ache and my skull is pounding, but the silence was worth the walk.

 

It's so dark I can't see the ocean but I know it is there by its static hum. I pull my shoes off and roll up my pant legs and wade out into the surf. Somewhere far off fireworks pop off. The water numbs my feet as I watch the silver and gold explode in the sky then rain down over the sea. I shiver and shove my hands in my pockets.

 

I could do it, disappear beneath the waves, let the icy cold numb me completely, I'd struggle for a moment, then I would die. I'd sink like a stone to the bottom of the raw, wild Pacific and no one would find me.

 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” A voice says to me and I startle. Peeta is standing on the shoreline, watching me. I turn back and look up at the sky.

 

“Eh, it's okay,” I say with a shrug. I can feel his smile, soft and sweet behind me.

 

“I wasn't talking about the fireworks.” He says. I regard him with sharp eyes, looking for the butt of the joke, he kicks the sand and looks up at the sky, pretending he doesn't notice my cold, hard stare.

 

“What do you want?” The words cut through the dark, angry, sharp things that stab the quiet. Peeta shrugs his shoulders and doesn't look at me. I just want to be home, where the anger and pain can slice through me in private.

 

“What do you want, Katniss?” His voice sounds weary and I feel the anger deflate from me like air from a balloon.

 

“I don't want anything,” I say.

 

“Is that the problem?” Peeta asks. He steps forward and grabs my hand, pulling me back to the shore and for some reason, I can't pick out of my brain I let him.

 

“Why do you care?” I snap, yanking my hand away from his.

 

“There is just something about you, I guess.” He says with a wry smile. “I'm a sucker for an honest glare.” He winks at me and I try to rearrange my face into something less glare-like.

 

“I don't need you to save me, you know,” I say, something furious gathering in my chest.

 

“I know.” He says, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “Trust me, I know.”

 

“Then why are you here?”

 

“Because, Katniss,” He says, his voice quiet and subdued. “There isn't a single person in this world I haven't disappointed.” He smiles but it looks tight and sad. “I never really cared before. I didn't care about Stanford or my mother but for some reason, I don't want to disappoint you.” He reaches out and plays with the tip of my braid. “I don't want to let you down.”

 

I feel a lump stick hard in my throat and I step away from him, so the braid slips from his grasp. He smiles as if he knows I would do this all along. I've long forgotten the fireworks in the sky or the ocean behind me, calling like a dark force. I am looking at Peeta and those clear, blue eyes and he is looking at me. For a long moment time stops, the ocean freezes and the night stretches on forever. It is just the two of us on this useless lump of rock we call earth, and for this moment, that's okay. Then the breath is stolen from my chest, and I think Peeta is the thief. It feels like I fell from a great height and bounced off the pavement. It hurts and sends a thrill down my spine at the same time.

 

“There you two are!” Finnick shouts, Johanna is running ahead of him with a bottle of champagne, soggy and wet, why I have no idea. She leaps onto Peeta's back and wraps her arms around his neck like a vice.

 

“Johanna, did you steal that bottle?” Peeta asks.

 

“Define steal?” She says.

 

“She took it from behind the bar.” Annie pipes up, hand in hand with Finnick.

 

“Happy New year!” Finnick calls to the sky and everyone lets out a cry. We all drink out of the bottle, Finnick and Peeta get into a wrestling match on the beach and Johanna and Annie cheer them on. I feel a flicker in my heart and I know it's fleeting, it will die out soon like a flame, but I can't help it. I let myself smile, just a little.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

 

 

Finnick turns down my street, we're both shivering and cold and covered in sand. He's smiling and a song is playing fast and happy from the stereo, I turn it down with trembling fingers. The heater is blowing hot air against me and I put my hands up to it, trying to work up the courage for what I am going to ask. I have to swallow the lump in my throat three times before the words come out, dry and raspy.

 

“Are you in love with Annie?” I ask.

 

Finnick looks over at me quickly then back to the road. “Yeah.” He says with a slow smile that is crooked on his face. “Yeah, I am.”

 

“Did you know you loved her right away?” I ask, pulling my hands away from the stream of warm air.

 

“Naw,” he whispers. “She kinda just crept up on me. I never saw her coming.” He winks at me. I feel the air go out of my chest at his words, why? I couldn't tell you.

 

“What does it feel like?” I ask.

 

“Hitting the ground.” He says. “Hitting the ground hard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits.  
> Graceland. - Paul Simon.  
> Keep me in your heart. - Warren Zevon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm too angry and tired to cry, so I shut my eyes and when I dream, it's of a boy with dark hair, playing violin for a group of men that loom over him with sneering smiles and deep, black holes for eyes.

_Its Prims twelfth birthday and in a few short months she will be bleeding to death on the street but today she is all smiles. She's dressed in a gauzy, pink dress and her hair is braided up off her neck. She dances around the kitchen with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. I'm counting up all of the bills that have arrived with FINAL NOTICE scrawled across them in a bright red script. One from the power company, three for our phone, another for homeowners insurance._

 

_I glance over at my mother, sitting in her bathrobe on the stairs. Her eyes are like two empty dinner plates staring at a point on the wall. Her face is a mask, no sadness showing, no anger, just nothing. I sigh heavily and toss the bills in a haphazard pile on the table._

 

_I have a job cleaning houses an office at night. Completely under the table and untraceable but it still doesn't even make a dent in the bills that pile precariously on our doorstep. It does little to put food into our stomachs. I need something more, something substantial that I can count on._

 

_“Do you think she'll show up?” Prim jolts me back to earth._

 

_“Huh?”_

 

_“Amber Presley,” She grits out. “Have you been listening to a word I've been saying?”_

 

_“Sorry, Duck,” I drop my head into my hands and rub my eyes. “I guess I'm more tired than I thought.”_

 

_“No, I'm sorry,” she says. “I was just saying, Amber Presley might come to my party.” She smiles and it brightens the entire room. “She's the most popular girl in school, and she said she might come tonight.”_

 

_“That's awesome,” Truth is, I can barely focus in on her voice, my eyelids are heavy and my bones feel like lead under my skin. I just want to crawl beneath my sheets and sleep away the rest of the morning._

 

_“I don't think she will, though.” Prim looks disheartened, staring at the table. My head shoots up and I stare at her, hard. She's been having trouble with some girls at school bullying her. Amber Presley is one of the biggest instigators. Its different for me, I've always fought fire with fire. Prim, while courageous in her own right, is sensitive, these things affect her more than they do me._

 

_“Primrose.” I snap, and her eyes flit my way shyly. “They'd be stupid not to come.” I eye the cake I bought at the supermarket. Chocolate and raspberry and I begged the clerk to write Prim's name in pink frosting. He rolled his eyes at me but did as I asked._

 

_She will have a good birthday, I'll make sure of it._

 

_I yawn and Prim smiles. “Get some sleep, Katniss,” She kisses me on the forehead. “I'll wake you when people start to show up.” I nod and creep up the stairs. I strip off my jeans and shirt and toss them on the floor. Thanking whoever is up there that it's Saturday and I can sleep away the afternoon. By the time my head hits my pillow I'm already asleep._

 

_Something is wrong._

 

_Its dusk and the last clinging bits of sunlight streak across the floor. I am up and shoving myself into pants before my sleepy brain has time to formulate what I am doing. I streak down the hall and tear down the stairs, shoving my way passed my mother who hasn't moved all day apparently._

 

_“Prim?” I look around at my house that isn't filled with loud-mouthed twelve years old. “Primrose?” My voice echoes through the quiet._

 

_“Out here.” and her voice is watery, subdued. I pad over and stare at her through the screen door. She sits on the stairs with her head on her knees, staring out at the yard._

 

_“What are you doing, kiddo?” I ask, pushing the screen door and standing behind her. She shrugs her shoulders and tucks her chin down._

 

_“No one showed up.” She says quietly and I can hear her tears. I feel a red, hot rage forming behind my eyes but I swallow it down._

 

_“No one?” I say incredulously, she invited everyone in her class!_

 

_“It was a big joke apparently.”_

 

_“Oh, duck.” Its all I can say. I sit next to her and her head immediately falls to my shoulder. I reach up and run my fingers through her corn silk hair, soft and fine._

 

_“I thought they were starting to like me.” I open my mouth to say something fairly uncomplimentary about the other girls, something like they don't deserve to breathe the same air as my sweet little sister, but Gale is crossing his lawn with a tiny Posy in his arms and Rory, his lanky little brother behind him with a bundle in his arms._

 

_I feel a smile breaking out on my face because I had almost forgotten about the present I've been hiding for a better part of a week._

 

_Gale and I had been splitting firewood behind the house when he pulled a small, orange kitten from the woodpile. Its starved and scrawny and its belly is swollen with worms, a flea crawls across its tiny pink nose and it hisses and spits at Gale who is holding it by the scruff of the neck._

 

_“Look at this ugly little guy.” He says, teasing the kitten with a finger to its belly as it writhes against Gale's hand. I snort and drop my ax but as I inch closer to the kitten I have a thought._

 

_“Prim would love him,” I say with a slow smile._

 

_“I hate it when you smile like that.” Gale snaps. Our wood splitting is abandoned for the rest of the day while I bathe the fleas from him and comb the knots from his fur and pull the burrs from his ears. He hates me for it but he's kind of cute all cleaned up._

 

_“Can you keep him until Prim's birthday?” I ask and Gale rolls his eyes as I smirk triumphantly. I buy food, a collar and even a couple of toys for him at the dollar store down the street and wrap them carefully in brown paper bags that I decorate with a sharpie, writing HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRIM in my messy handwriting. It isn't a perfect gift but Prim will love it. I am so pleased with myself I could scream._

 

_And now I know its perfect because if Prim needs anything, its a friend._

 

_“Happy Birthday, Primmy!” Posy shouts, running across our lawn on chubby legs and launching herself into Prim's arms. She kisses Prim's cheek and Prim smiles, wiping her tears quickly before the inquisitive little girl can question them._

 

_“Thank you Posy!” My sister says with a brightness that is clearly false. I use the distraction to run upstairs and get my sloppily wrapped gifts and dart back down before she has noticed. Gale winks at me and Rory steps shyly up, presenting the kitten as if its a crown to a queen._

 

_“Oh, he's so cute!” Prim exclaims and I feel my smile breaking my face._

 

_“Wanna hold him?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders. Prim eyes me suspiciously, her eyes narrowing._

 

_“Whats with you?” She asks and I can't help my legs twitching in excitement, I struggle to keep my face neutral when I ask her if she wants to open her presents._

 

_I hand her the present I've been hiding behind my back. She tears it open carefully, even though its just a paper bag. She's just like that, this little sister of mine. She looks at the collar uncertainly for a moment, crinkling her nose before disbelief crosses her face._

 

_“No way!” she shouts at me. “You hate cats!”_

 

_“Then you better take care of him.” I snort then squeak as she wraps her arms around my neck in a bone-crushing hug._

 

_Her breath tickles my ear when she says she loves me._

 

_“I love you, too,” I say, capturing her chin with my hand. “Always.”_

 

_And everyone goes inside and we gather around the table. Prim even coaxes Mom to the table and we all have cake and milk and the party that never was is long forgotten._

 

_I wish we could have stayed at that table forever. But time moves us forward, whether we want it to or not._

 

 

 

I'm asleep when I get the phone call. The phone buzzes on my nightstand and I reach for it groggily. I press the phone to my ear angrily.

 

“This better be good, Odair,” I growl, my voice raspy with sleep. “Its one o'clock in the goddamned morning.”

 

“Katniss,” He says and at the sound of my name, soft and insistent I am sitting up straight. I don't answer right away, I chew on my lip uncertainly, a rock forming in my gut. “Katniss.” He says again, a little louder.

 

“What?” I say, my blood running cold. “What is it?” I say again, feeling fully awake at his voice. I hear him clear his throat thickly over the other end.

 

“Finnick,” I say as loudly as I dare. “What the fuck?”

 

“Katniss, it's Peeta-”

 

 

That's how I end up at The Office, standing at the bar in sweatpants, combat boots, and my father's jacket. An older woman in a red dress eyes me disdainfully and I glare right back at her until the blonde bartender who could only be Peeta's brother saunters over to me and sets an ice water down in front of me.

 

“You seen Peeta?” I ask pushing the water back at him.

 

“I told him to stop bringing his underage friends around here, especially when they're causing trouble for me.” He snaps.

 

“I ain't looking to cause trouble,” I say. “I'm looking for Peeta.”

 

“Whose looking?” His brother asks.

 

“Alan Rickman,” I snort. “Moron,” I mutter under my breath.

 

“Too soon,” He cocks his head at me and smirks.“Let me guess, braid and a bad attitude, you must be Katniss.”

 

“It's a fucking pleasure.” I snap.

 

“Wish I could say the same.”

 

“Where the fuck is Peeta?”

 

“Over by the pool tables,” he grits out. “And take this to him, won't you?” He holds out the glass of water.

 

“Not your waitress.”

 

“Then do it out of the kindness of your heart.” He says, I make a face at him but take the glass and shove my way through the crowd toward the back of the bar where a few ancient pool tables sit largely abandoned.

 

Peeta is sitting on one with his arm slung over an uncomfortable looking Delly. She jolts away from him when she sees me coming. “Hey, Katniss.” She says meekly, running a hand through her curls.

 

“Hi, Delly,” I say back, eying her warily.

 

“Katniss!” Peeta exclaims and I drink him in. His eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, his flannel is crumpled and beads of sweat soak his hairline. I don't think I've seen Peeta drunk in the two months I've lived here. “What are you doing here.” He hops off the pool table and takes a long swig of the beer from the bottle he's strangling.

 

“Finnick called me, told me to pick your ass up,” I growl. “At one in the morning on a school night.”

 

“I owe him a beer,” Peeta says. “I owe you a beer, tell Rye it's on me.” His words slur together and he slumps against the pool table.

 

“Fat chance.” I snap. “Here, drink this.” I hand him the water and he stares at it for a long moment before taking a drink.

 

Delly drags me backward and before I can tell her I have a thing about people touching me she leans up and whispers in my ear. “He had a fight with his Mom, he's been like this for hours, I tried to get him to go home, Finnick did, hell even Rye did,” She shrugs her shoulders. “We thought maybe he'd go with you.”

 

I turn back to Peeta who has now spilled the water down his shirt. I feel a heavy sigh escape my chest.

 

“Peeta,” I try saying it as nice as I can but it comes out harsh. “Come on, I'm taking you home.”

 

“Katniss Everdeen, patron saint of picking drunks up from the bar.” He says with a sleepy looking smile. I inch closer to him, he smells like beer and cigarettes.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask him, searching his eyes for signs of life. He leans into me, his body warm and heavy.

 

“Crime,” He whispers in my ear and I jump backward at the feeling of his breath against my neck.

 

“You aren't that big of an idiot.” I snort.

 

“Aren't I?” he slurs, “Isn't it all I am good at?” He takes another long drink from his beer. “Crime.” He says with finality.

 

“It's not everything,” I say gently. “Come on, let's get you out of here.” I hold Peeta's elbow to steady him and he leans against me. He's heavy, and I nearly drop him but I manage to get him passed the bar and the watchful eyes of his brother with Delly's help. We've just gotten him out the door when I hear a voice behind me.

 

“Well, if it isn't Ice Queen Everdeen.”

 

“Fuck you, Marvel.” Peeta slurs from next to me and it pulls a laugh from somewhere inside of me.

 

“No need to get testy, Peeta.”

 

“Fuck you, Marvel.” I echo and I can feel him roll his eyes behind me.

 

“Don't forget about our agreement, Mellark.”

 

“It's already forgotten, dickface,” I mutter as Peeta stumbles more than walks down the stairs and I almost drop him.

 

“Where are your keys?” I ask as the cold air nips at my face.

 

“Where are yours?” Peeta asks.

 

“Finnick drove me.”

 

It takes him forever to pull the keys from his pocket and I help him up into the passenger seat, buckling him up as he slumps against the headrest. I climb into the driver's seat and turn the key, the truck sputters to life and I heave out a sigh.

 

“Peeta,” I say, my voice slow and careful. “What are you doing?” He is quiet for so long I think he has fallen asleep.

 

“She's just too much sometimes,” He says finally. “Why can't she just love me? So what if I didn't get into Stanford or Harvard.”

 

“She sounds like a real piece of work,” I say to the steering wheel.

 

“She thinks I destroyed my future,” He slurs. “What I destroyed was her bragging rights and I was her last chance.”

 

“Peeta.” I don't even know what to say, so I fall silent.

 

“Why can't she just love me?” He asks again and my mouth flops open then snaps shut again. I don't have an answer for him. Instead, I focus on driving, pulling out of the driveway and onto the highway. Cigarette Daydream is playing on the radio and I turn it down until its just a hum through the truck.

 

“Thanks for coming to pick me up.” Peeta finally says and all I can do is nod because I don't trust my voice.

 

I pass the turnoff for Peeta's trailer, deciding the last thing he needs is to be alone in a dank room, drunk. When I pull up to the house I flick the headlights off and I turn to look at Peeta, passed out against the window, snoring softly.

 

“Hey,” I say, shaking him awake, he mumbles something groggily and falls against my shoulder, his curls tickling my neck. “Hey, wake up.” I say a little more insistently. I press a hand to my mouth to stop the slow smile creeping onto my face.

 

“Mellark, wake up,” I say softly. “We're here.” finally, his eyes crack open.

 

“We're at your place.” He states, sitting up slightly.

 

“I know, so be quiet.”

 

Quiet is something Peeta fails at consistently and he hits every squeaky floorboard that he encounters but somehow I manage to drop him onto my bed without waking Effie or Haymitch. He's snoring by the time I get my boots off. For a moment I look down at him, he looks so small in my bed, like a child. I lean down and brush his curls from his face, once I realize what I am doing I jerk back my hand, but he doesn't wake.

 

I grab a blanket and pillow and make a bed on the floor. I stare up at the ceiling for a long time aware that Peeta is only a few feet away, warm and safe, but he feels a million miles away.

 

XX.XX

 

I wake to Haymitch looming over me with a coffee in one hand and a jug of water in the other. I jerk upward and for a moment the world spins.

 

“Fuck you, Haymitch.” I spit angrily.

 

“Morning, Sweetheart.” Haymitch says evenly, taking a long drink of his coffee. “Want to explain to me why Peeta Mellark is in your fucking bed?”

 

I feel humiliation and anger flood my veins and look over at Peeta sleeping away the morning completely oblivious to my uncles angry glare.

 

“He was drunk, I brought him here to sleep it off,” I grumble, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

 

“So you took off in the middle of the night?”

 

“In so many words.” I say with a sigh, my uncle nods and for a long moment there is just silence, then he dumps the water directly onto Peeta's face.

 

Peeta stands as if it was electricity that startled him awake, he looks furious, then turns beet red with embarrassment. “Morning, Mr. Abernathy.” He says, pushing his wet curls from his face. He looks down at me and I can see the memory of last night come back to him as he mumbles an awkward good morning to me.

 

“Both of you downstairs, you have school in an hour.” Haymitch says and staggers out of the room.

 

I glance over at Peeta, then snap my eyes away when I find him looking at me. The air suddenly feels thick and warm, like cough syrup. I clear my throat and stand, throwing my blanket and pillow back on my now soaked bed.

 

“Uh, Katniss,” Peeta says and his voice sounds shaky. “Thank you, for last night.”

 

“No problem,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “Just don't make it a habit.” When I wink at him he turns red and smiles at the floor.

 

We slip downstairs as quietly as we can, which for Peeta is about as loud as he was last night. Effie nearly drops her toast when she sees us. “Good Morning, Mrs. Abernathy,” He mumbles, looking like he's unsure whether to sit down at the table or not. In the end, Haymitch makes the decision for him.

 

“Sit down, Mellark, stay awhile,” For a moment the only sound in the room is the chair scraping the floor. “Have some toast, you look like death itself, Son.” Peeta looks at me as if waiting for permission and it makes me crack a half smile. Slowly, he butters a piece of toast and takes a tentative bite.

 

“Katniss, go get dressed, please.” My aunt says and then begins making awkward small talk with Peeta. I stomp upstairs and shower quickly, toweling off in record time. I slip on my uniform and lace my boots up my shins.

 

I come downstairs unsure if Peeta will still be here, maybe my Uncle made him so uncomfortable he bolted as soon as I was out of the room. He's standing by the door when I come down with my hair braided and dripping water down my back.

 

“You want a ride to school?” He asks, chewing on his lip, keys jingling in his hand. I nod and the smile on his face is so bright I want to look away.

 

We're halfway to his truck when he grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop and just looks at me for a long moment. His blue eyes roam my face and his hand reaches out as he strokes his pinky down the length of mine. I feel my heart fall still for a moment and when I inch away he steps forward and locks his arms around my waist.

 

I stand their uncertainly for a while with my arms extended as he hugs me. My whole body stiff, but then the selfish part of me is washed in comfort and I find my own arms wrapping around him, and I press my face into his chest, inhaling the stale smell of beer on his clothes.

 

“Thank you.” He whispers.

 

“I didn't do anything.” I say sharply, wholly done with all the thank yous.

 

“You didn't have to,” He says. “Just, thanks for being you.” He leaves me behind, blinking at him, and just like last night, I have to hide the slow smile that threatens to break my face.

 

XX.XX

 

 

“Hey Marvel,” I say, slamming his locker shut. “What's going on,  _friend_?” I spit out the last word while glaring at him as he finishes shoving his books into his backpack.

 

“Katniss,” He says with a smirk. “Finally tired of fucking Peeta, came to find out how a real man would treat you?”

 

“You're such a fucking asshole.” I mutter.

 

“What do you want?” He asks.

 

“I want to know what you want with Peeta.” He leans back and gives me a long, hard look, then he smiles, his teeth glint in the florescent glare of the overhead lights.

 

“What business is it of yours?” He asks. “He's a grown man, needs a little girl to fight for him?”

 

“Just curious,” I say. “No need to get testy.” I echo his words from last night back at him. He straightens his backpack.

 

“Listen, it's less about what I want. More about what Cato wants.”

 

“What is it that Cato wants?” I ask in a hard voice. Marvel smiles and leans forward, brushing his thumb against my cheekbone and I cringe backward.

 

“Money.” He whispers and then laughs in my face. He pushes me out of his way and wanders down the hall, leaving me to watch after him as he saunters into English.

 

XX.XX

 

 

I try to find a good time to ask Peeta about Cato, about Marvel but the time never seems to present itself. We're always surrounded by people, whether it be at school, with the social butterfly known as Finnick or at his brothers bar.

 

So one night I text him to come get me from my house. I shove my arms through my coat and wait on the steps outside. Its cold and I blow on my fingers to warm them. When his truck pulls up to the curb all I can hear for a moment is my heart thundering in my ears. I get up lazily, crossing the yard on legs stiff with cold. When I climb in the truck Peeta smiles at me and I can't return it, I just look at him with unblinking eyes and slowly the grin slips from his face.

 

“What is it?” He asks and my heart drops into my stomach with anticipation. I'm quiet so long I can see Peeta squirming.

 

“What is it with you?” It's accusatory, cold.

 

“I think I need a little more information to answer your question properly.” I bite my lip hard to keep my onslaught of questions from bursting out. He fixes his gaze on the steering wheel in front of him and waits patiently for me to slow my breathing.

 

“Cato?” Is the only word I can form, my head shaking back and forth slowly.

 

Peeta laughs bitterly, a sound that jars the quiet. “You too?” He asks in a voice he is working to keep even and light. “I've heard enough about him from my mother and Finnick.”

 

“I just,” I falter, trying to work out whatever it is I am trying to say. “I just don't understand.” I say lamely.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Peeta says, catching my eye with a small, sad smile. He waits for me to nod softly before continuing. “He wants me to help him rob a warehouse, its been abandoned.” He scratches at the stubble on his jaw nervously. “If I can get him inside, there is tons of equipment just sitting there, waiting.”

 

“Peeta-” I start but he cuts me off.

 

“The money is good,” He says defensively. “And I need to repair the trailer before the storms really start.”

 

“Peeta, you can't seriously be considering this.” I laugh because it seems so absurd to think of the boy that looked so nervous when we crept into the round room, thieving from an deserted warehouse.

 

“Why not?” He shoots back, his eyes flit to mine. “Who is it hurting? The equipment is just rotting in there.”

 

“Spoken like a true criminal.” I mutter it under my breath, but Peeta caught it. I see the hurt flash in his eyes and my heart seizes at the sight. He shrinks down in his seat.

 

“Peeta, I'm sorry,” I say and he shakes his head like it isn't a big deal but his eyes flit away from me and out his window. “I shouldn't have said that.” I say, feeling about an inch tall.

 

“No, you're right.” He spits.

 

“You know, you're too smart for this shit.” I say more to myself than him. He is quiet for a long time and when he finally speaks, his voice cracks.

 

“You sound like my mother.” His thumbnail runs down a crack in the plastic of his steering wheel.

 

“Well, it's true,” I feel my chin jut out and my shoulders square. “You're better than any of this.”

 

“Thanks, Katniss.” He whispers softly and I am not sure if its meant to be sarcastic or not so I let the words fall between us.

 

“I'm hungry,” I say finally, and Peeta cracks a small half-smile that brings out the dimple on his cheek. “Let's eat.” I buckle my seat belt and look at him expectantly.

 

“You're always hungry.” He drawls, but puts the truck into drive. We don't talk about the warehouse or Cato the rest of the night.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

Cinna is watching me with those dark eyes of his, sharp as a hawk. I cringe beneath the weight of their heavy stare. I look at the sheets of music on the wall, the violin on his desk, anything but him. He pushes his glasses up his nose and leans back. The silence is suffocating and I want to do nothing more than throw the door open and run but that would involve moving and I can't do that with him watching me.

 

“You have seen the numbers on my arm?” It sounds like a question and I shake my head, not wanting to hear about them.

 

“I was a little boy when the war started,” He says softly, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt. “When we we're sent to Krakow I was seven. All I had was the shirt on my back and my violin” I swallow the hard lump in my throat and focus on breathing out of my nose to keep the bile from rising in my throat.

 

“Soon, our family was rounded up and sent to Dachau on the train,” I squeeze my eyes shut and tell myself to breathe. “We were on the platform waiting to be sorted and I held onto my violin for dear life and an officer stopped me, asked me to play.”

 

My eyes snap open. “W-What?” I manage to say shakily.

 

“He was playing with me, of course,” Cinna says. “I was not human to him, but I did as he said. What other choice did I have?” I wheeze out what air I can, feeling everything in me trembling at his words. He is silent a long time and when he speaks again, his words are husky and ancient sounding. “He told me I played like an angel.”

 

When I manage to lift my eyes from the floor Cinna is looking out the window that is covered in silt and grime. “I was saved, he took me to the officers barracks and I played while they ate dinner.” He looks at me, and smiles sadly at me. “Do not cry, kleines Mädchen.” I hadn't realized that a tear is hanging from my eyelash, I blink and it splashes onto my cheek.

 

“I never saw my mother and sister again, they were deemed unfit for work and exterminated,” It sounds like the cold-blooded thing it is, callous, utterly inhuman. “My father died from starvation shortly before the war ended.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” I growl angrily.

 

“Because, you are a very brave girl.” He leans back to look at me, his lips quirking upward. “And bravery is so rare in this world, it deserves to be seen.”

 

I open my mouth but nothing comes out, I pull my knees up and rest my chin on them. I don't want to see the pain on Cinna's face so I look out the window and it kills me to do it. He is wrong, dead wrong, I am not brave, I am a coward.

 

“Does it ever get easier?” I squeak out, biting my lip so hard I taste metallic blood.

 

He is quiet a long time before he answers. “Not if you don't look it in the face.” When he looks at me it is tender, as if I am a daughter, its so alien to me I throw my gaze straight to his desk and the violin that sits there.

 

“Do you believe in forgiveness?” I ask my voice small and unsure.

 

“If I saw that officer today, I would kill him with my bare hands.” Its all the answer I need.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

I shed my coat and book bag at the door, toe off my boots and creep up the stairs as quietly as I can. I hear Effie twittering around in the kitchen, I smell the rich scent of meat roasting and it makes my stomach twist painfully. I creak open my door and stare at the dust motes that hang in the early afternoon air. A few papers are scattered on my pillow and I lift one to my face, running my fingers over the expensive cardstock. Its a pamphlet for a college. I lift up another, for Sac State. I feel something pop and fizzle to life in my chest and I throw them back down like they're made of fire.

 

“Effie!” I shout and for a moment there is silence, then the sound of her shoes clicking against the floor. I try to count to ten in my head, hoping the white, hot rage in my head wills subside but it does little good in quelling the heat in my chest, my head, my bones.

 

“I didn't know you were home, dear.” She says with a smile glued to her face.

 

“What the fuck is this?” I say, holding one of the offending pamphlets between my thumb and index finger for her to inspect.

 

“I picked those up today for you, its time to start thinking of your applications, which are already late.” She tilts her head, smile still plastered in place.

 

“What makes you think I'm going to college?” I roar. All the hatred, the heat, the decay that has been building in me all day comes out in that question. Effie takes a step back, confused.

 

“I know you can't see it now, but you'll regret it if you don't start thinking about your future.” She tries to pull me into a hug but I shove her away.

 

“I don't have a future!” I shout. Now I know how Peeta feels about his mother breathing down his neck. “Why can't you see that?” I look up at the ceiling, fighting a frustrated scream.

 

“Oh sweetheart,” She says and it doesn't sound condescending and smug like when Haymitch says it. “I'm just so worried about you,” She shakes her head. “You're a ghost, almost gone.” Her hands reach out and take my face, I squirm backward but she holds fast. “Come back to us.”

 

I look deep into her eyes for a moment before wrenching backward. “Get out.” I say stiffly and she does, shutting the door quietly behind her. I gather up the scraps of paper and toss them into the wastebasket before collapsing onto the bed in a heap.

 

I'm too angry and tired to cry, so I shut my eyes and when I dream, its of a boy with dark hair, playing violin for a group of men that loom over him with sneering smiles and deep, black holes for eyes.

 

_The rain comes suddenly, drenching Gale and I as we scramble to grab our belongings. We make a run for the laundromat across the street where a Mexican woman is trying to calm her baby, an elderly man struggles to put his clothes in the dryer, a young punk with a purple mohawk drinks a forty in a paper bag. Rain drips from my braid and puddles on the tile beneath me._

 

_“You're soaked,” Gale says with a laugh._

 

_I nod._

 

_He smiles crookedly, it's so Gale, it steals my breath._

 

_I shiver._

 

_I shift under his stare, narrowed eyes and crocodile smile leaves me feeling open and exposed like he knows a secret he isn’t sharing._

 

_My clothes cling to me and I cover my chest with my arms._

 

_Then Gale rips his shirt off his back and wipes my face with the hem, so gently. It sucks the breath from my chest._

 

_How does he do that?_

 

_I think he might kiss me and everything inside of me screams to run out the door but this place is warm and smells sweet like lilacs and fabric softener and the whirl of the machines makes me drowsy._

 

_Would it be so bad if he kissed me?_

 

_I don’t find out this day, but I will._

 

_We will betray each other in the worst way possible._

 

_But for now, he is just a boy who took his shirt off to wipe the rain from my face._

 

_And I am just a girl._

 

_A girl that in a few months time will hate him._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don't what? Don't kiss you?” He smiles humorlessly. “Don't care about you?”
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Just don't.” I say, laying my head against the cool pillow under me.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I hear the breath go out of him, I can almost see his nostrils flare. “Fine, Katniss.” It sounds resigned.

_ Chapter 10 _

  
  


_ The faint tinkling of music climbs the stairs and wakes me like a child on Christmas morning. My heavy eyelids flutter open and shut and open again. For a few moments all I can do is blink and then I am up and pulling my jeans up over my hips. I stick to the wall as I descend the stairs, my back pressed against the cool wood paneling. I hear laughter erupt and for a long time, I stand at the base of the stairs, just listening. It feels like a violation of some kind like I shouldn't be here, an interloper in my own home. It smells like breakfast, like that maple syrup morning I spent with my father, so long ago now. I can almost see him, almost. It's been so long he is papery and weathered in my memory. _

 

_ My eyes slide shut and I listen carefully. Prim giggles girlishly. My mother says something in a low voice. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, Queen. Happy, upbeat, my heart beats to the tempo. Pancakes sizzle in a worn out iron skillet. My feet inch forward until only my toes hang in the kitchen and I peek around the wall. _

 

_ My mother is bathed and brushed, her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail that looks too young on her. Her eyes are bright and clear as a summer sky and she spins Prim in the space between the table and sink. Prim laughs and it breaks something in my chest. _

 

_ This is the first time in months my mother has dressed, eaten anything beyond what Prim and I force feed her. This is the first time in years I've seen the light return to her eyes, and my sister brought it out in her. Prim pirouettes as her hair gleams in the dim kitchen light. She has perfect form or at least that is what her teacher says, says she could get into a good school with a bit of luck and a scholarship. It's something I can't even allow myself to think of, for fear it will never happen. _

 

_ I feel forsaken by my little sister as I watch her with my mother. The smallest part of me is so resentful of this betrayal I could scream, yank my hair out by the roots, slap Prim right across the face. I want to tell her it won't last like I always do. My words are stuck at the back of my throat. Prim is my mothers, in the way I was my father's and I cannot deny her this small, simple happiness. Even if it won't last. Then, I am so ashamed I crawl back to the safety of the stucco wall. I bury my face in my hands and let myself have the smallest luxury I have never allowed myself before. _

 

_ I cry. _

 

_ Silently, with my lips pressed against my hand to keep the sobs inside. I cry for the things I have lost. The things I will never have and the things that will inevitably disappear. The tears are hot against my cheeks and dry there and when I am finally empty I climb the stairs and shut the bathroom door behind me carefully. I wash my face with hot-as-I-can-stand water and dry them on a cheap, scratchy towel. I stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes are a little red and puffy but other than that I look like I always do. There is no more salt on my skin. _

 

_ They'll never find me out. _

 

_ I crawl under my cool sheets and pretend to be asleep. My mother comes sneaking in and kisses my forehead. I pretend to be groggy, I open my eyes. She looks warm and safe, but after years of this I have learned not to trust it, it's a mirage. A memory of happier times, nothing more. _

 

_ “Hey, Kat.” She whispers, kissing my forehead. I cringe back away from her. Hurt flashes across her face. I feel my nostrils flare. “I made breakfast for dinner, your favorite.” _

 

_ “That's Prim's favorite.” I grit out. _

 

_ “Oh.” Is all she says, looking unsure. She chews on her thumbnail, clearly nervous. It is a trait I inherited, and if it weren't for that I'd think we were from a different planets. “Well, you can come have some, if you want?” She leaves the choice to me. Wrong move. _

 

_ “I'm not hungry,” I whisper and turn over, pulling my sheets over my head. _

 

_ I hear her deflate like a balloon. “Well, offer still stands.” She says quietly. A few moments later I hear the door click shut. _

 

_ XX.XX _

 

 

I had a dream, its lost to the hazy gray of sleep now, but I think it was a good one. I don't have the soreness in my muscles from thrashing. I don't have the rawness in my throat. I lay there for a moment, just blinking up at the white ceiling, trying to conjure the colors and images from the night but its useless.

 

I stand and pull my jeans over my hips, the chain on my wallet jangling. My belt fits snug against my hipbones that no longer jut out so sharply. I guess eating well has its perks. I'm filling out and while I am still slender, my elbows are no longer knives. My spine no longer slices against my shirt. I pull a sweater over my head and stare at myself in the mirror. I touch the curve of my cheekbones, the slope of my nose, my lips. I look the same, but this morning is different, I feel different and I can't quite place why.

 

Downstairs Effie sits at the table with her head in her hands. I stop at the foot of the stairs and look around, everything seems muted and quiet. She hasn't noticed me, her lilac hair spills over her hands. I tiptoe across the room and reach for the coffeepot.

 

“Morning,” I say and Effie starts, when her eyes meet mine they are red-rimmed and puffy. “Effie?” I ask and she sniffles just slightly.

 

“Haymitch hasn't come home.” She says as I hand her a cup of coffee.

 

“Maybe he's still at the restaurant?” I say, shrugging my shoulders. She scoffs at that, making a noise at the back of her throat. “Well, did you try the bar?” I say, a little sourly. Her head falls so she is staring at the table again.

 

“It is January 23 rd .” She says softly, and I understand immediately.

 

“I'll find him,” I whisper, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair.

 

That is how I end up at the docks, watching seagulls scream and sail through the sky. The dock workers pay me no mind as I wander. The water here is serene and calm and an endless blue. And I find my uncle sitting at the end of a wooden dock, a bottle of cheap vodka at his side like an old friend.

 

“Hey,” I say to his back.

 

“Get gone, kid.” He slurs after a long second, not bothering to look away from the horizon.

 

“Tough luck Effie sent me,” I say, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

 

“I don't want to talk.” He tosses a pebble and it sinks into the water below his feet. Finally, I move forward and sit next to him, careful not to touch him.

 

“Good, cause I don't want to talk either,” I say blandly. “I came for a drink.” At this he gives me a sideways glance with puffy, glazed over eyes.

 

“Finally, something I can help you with.” He says, motioning to the bottle at his side. I pick it up and unscrew the cap. I don't take a drink though, I just look out at the water, silent and flat. Light ripples across it. We are both silent for a long time.

 

“This place is nice,” I say finally, my voice raspy.

 

“It's a good place to be mad at God.” My uncle muses, snatching the bottle from me and taking a long, deep pull.

 

“Yeah, I could see that.” I flip the cap through my fingers absentmindedly and my uncle chuckles.

 

“Your Dad used to do that, you know.”

 

“What?” I ask, feeling a sad smile tug on my lips.

 

“Fiddle with shit,” He says. “Constantly needed something in his fingers, you do that too.”

 

“Sorry,” I say, setting the cap on the wood between us.

 

“Don't you apologize for it,” he says softly, his head falling to the side as he stares up at the sky. “

 

“I'm sorry about Leah.” I choke out quickly.

 

“Don't apologize for that either.” He says after a long silence and for a while we leave it at that, just listening to the waves licking at the shore somewhere behind us, the dock workers yelling and the seagulls crying.

 

“Does it ever get easier?” I ask, being careful not to look at him. Scared of what he is going to see in my eyes. The fear, the sadness, the emptiness that lives in the silver. I can feel him looking at me but I hold steady. “With time, I mean.” I try to clarify.

 

“It has been ten years, sweetheart,” He says softly. “Still fucking hurts like the first day.”

 

I don't say anything, but I snatch the bottle back and take my own long drink. I wince as it burns its way down to my empty stomach and lands like fire in my gut. When I can breathe again without my nose running I take another drink and pass the bottle back to him. I miss her, Prim, like its the first day all over again. Like I am waking up the morning after, realizing it wasn't some terrible nightmare. I realize all over again, that she is gone, forever. She isn't coming back.

 

And it is all my fault.

 

We go on like this most of the morning and when I finally slur out that we should go I can barely stand on my feet.

 

“Fuck,” I mumble. “I'm drunk.” This makes my uncle laugh, I guess alcohol makes everyone funny.

 

I pull out my phone and stare at it for a moment, waiting for my brain to catch up to my hands. The screen finally makes sense and I wonder for a moment who to call, Finnick is at work, so is Annie and I don't really know Johanna well enough, I don't even know if she has a car. I finally settle that it is going to have to be Peeta. I press the phone to my ear and stumble forward. A man whistles at me from farther up the dock, I flip him off.

 

“Katniss?” Peeta greets, sounding worried.

 

“How'd you know it was me?” I say.

 

“Caller Id.”

 

“Right, sorry.” I feel myself lurch and I force myself to sit. “Hey, I have a favor to ask.”

 

“Are you drunk?” Peeta asks and I feel my eyebrows knit together.

 

“How'd you know?” I snort.

 

“Katniss, its nine in the morning.”

 

“What's he saying?” My uncle asks.

 

“He's being really self-righteous,” I answer Haymitch.

 

“Katniss, are you with Haymitch?” Peeta asks I had almost forgotten he was there.

 

“Yeah, of course,” I state, rolling my eyes.

 

“Of course? You're a really snotty drunk.” Peeta says.

 

“Come get me,” I feel lightheaded, and the world is starting to tilt. I press my face to the wood, it smells moldy and salty and I fight the hot bile rising in my throat. My eyelids feel heavy and I shut them. “Please?” I'm too drunk to stop the pleading tone in my voice.

 

“Where are you?” I can hear the jangle of keys in the background, a woman shouting angrily.

 

“The Docks,” I mumble, my voice sounds far away.

 

“The docks?” Peeta says as if this is the craziest thing he has heard, ever. “What are you doing drunk at the docks with your uncle at nine in the morning?”

 

“It's a long story.” I feel gauzy and light and far away from anything.

 

“I'm on my way, don't move, okay?”

 

“Okay,” I promise, setting the phone down next to my head and letting my eyes slide shut. The slight rocking of the waves lulls me into a trance, not asleep exactly, but a drunken spell, where I see nothing, feel nothing, am nothing.

 

Someone is shaking my shoulder and I try to swat them away. Someone chuckles and I roll onto my back and pry my eyes apart. Peeta is looking down at me. I squint, trying to focus my eyes on him.

 

“You two had quite the party.” Peeta flat-out laughs at me.

 

“Fuck you,” I grumble as I get to my knees. My uncle is sitting up at least, though there is vomit on his chin.

 

“Girl is a fucking lightweight,” My uncle says, kicking his legs up and lurching to his feet. “Can't handle her vodka, fathers girl, through and through.”

 

“Fuck you, Haymitch!”

 

“You're grounded.”

 

Peeta looks lost between us. Unsure who to deal with first. He runs his hands through his curls, mussing them. I feel contrite but too drunk to do anything about it. The best I can do is sit calmly with my head between my knees while he gets my uncle in his truck. Finally, he comes for me.

 

“Okay,” He says, “I think I'll carry you if you don't mind.”

 

“I do mind.” I snap.

 

“Katniss,” He says, clearly exasperated with me. “Please, work with me.”

 

For whatever reason, I do. I don't resist when he lifts me into his arms. My head lolls against his chest and I grasp at his shirt as my stomach rolls.

 

“Please, Please don't throw up on my work shirt.” He says calmly, shifting me in his arms.

 

“You're so strong,” I mumble into his neck, I swear I feel his blush against my cheek.

 

“You're so,” he leans in close to my ear so his breath is against my neck. “Drunk.” He whispers, I can feel the grin in his tone and I want to flip him off but I feel like if I let go of his shirt I'll fall out of his arms and straight into the ocean, right off the face of the earth. So I keep my face pressed into his chest.

 

“Thank you,” I say, my voice slurred and sleepy. “For coming to get me.”

 

“Its what we do right?” He says, “Come get the other when they're shitfaced.”

 

I feel childlike against his chest. Like I am small again and my father is carrying me to bed. I don't want to leave this place, where I feel warm and safe and wholly comforted. When my eyes open again I'll be home, snuggled in bed. A place where my father never veered off the road, where my sister never bled out onto the pavement, where I never tore down the street with bare feet.

 

I know it will crash back, the reality of the world. My sister is dead, my father is dead. My mother is a shell, staring at a blank white wall. I know this, but for a moment, it's nice to pretend. If I could I'd live in this daze forever. When I come back it is going to hurt like hell.

 

“What will?” Peeta asks.

 

Shit, I said that last part out loud.

 

I don't answer him but I feel his arms pull me closer to him. And when he slides me into the seat of the truck he has to pry my fingers from his shirt. I let my forehead fall against the window, and as we drive, I notice its slightly cracked, the cold air of midday brushing my fevered cheeks.

 

I can hear my sister in my head.

 

_ “Katniss, you are so stupid.” _

 

_I know._ I say in my head.

 

_ “Katniss, let go.” _

 

_ I can't. _

 

 

I feel my sheets, my head hits my pillow. I open my swollen eyes. I hear a moan and I think it belongs to me. My mouth is dry as dust and my head is starting to throb. I feel a hand, cool against my skin, press against my forehead.

 

“Hey,” Peeta says. “Are you okay?”

 

“I think so,” I say, my stomach flipping and contracting inside of me.

 

“What happened?” He asks.

 

“Haymitch's wife died today,” I mumble into my pillowcase.

 

“What?”

 

“Not today, today but ten years ago today,” I say.

 

“That sucks,” Peeta says, brushing my hair from my eyes and tucking it gently behind my ear.

 

“My sister died too,” I say, I've been hoarding the words in my mouth, they come out like bile, stinging my tongue like acid.

 

“I know,” Peeta says gently.

 

“I miss her.” I'm horrified by what I have just said, but I am hopeless to stop it.

 

Sober Katniss is going to be pissed.

 

“I know.” Peeta echoes.

 

Just like that, I am running down the street with my heart thundering in my ears. Sirens are blaring all around me and people are yelling, pointing. A sound like firecrackers popping off, smoke. Then red, so much red and gray skies and the backpack laying limp in the street. I notice it before I notice my sisters sneakers, her pants, her braided hair, her face. All drenched in that violent, deep red.

 

_ No, don't think about that. _

 

She sobs out my name, her eyes already dulling over. I know my feet are moving but I can't feel them. Gale is behind me and I can hear his footsteps so close to me.

_ No, stop thinking. _

 

“I should go.” Peeta says and it jolts me back to the present. I feel the weight on the bed lighten and before I can stop myself I grab his hand and pull him back, knowing the nightmares will be a fresh hell and I don't have the strength to face them alone.

 

“No please, stay,” I grit out. “Stay with me.”

 

He says something but I am being dragged back, darkness tugs at my eyelids and I don't quite catch it before I fall into sleep.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

It must be close to midday, the sun is high and streaks across the floor. I bury my face in my pillow and groan. My hands fist my sweat-soaked sheets. My neck is stiff and my head throbs. I pull myself up and yank my knees to my chest.

 

“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes.

 

“Hey you,” Someone says from behind me. I startle and jolt out of bed. My body screams in protest. Peeta is sitting on the bed, still in his work shirt. He runs his hand across his neck, a nervous tick of his.

 

“Hey,” I say softly. Trying to focus my eyes on something, but it feels like my skull is splitting apart. “You didn't have to stay all day.” I croak, my voice harsh and raspy.

 

“Yes, I did.” He says quietly.

 

His head falls and he stares at his hands. His eyes slide shut and he presses his lips together. He is gearing up for a conversation I don't want to be a part of, I can feel it coming. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

 

“You scream in your sleep,” He says quickly. I don't know what to say to that so I just shrug and twist my shirt in my hands. He stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. “It sounds like you're dying.”

 

Oh Peeta, I am.

 

I bite my lip to keep the words from tumbling out of them and spilling on the ground between us. For a long moment we just look at each other, then his lips twist upward into a soft smile that makes my stomach flutter. The curtains billow in the wind and I glance over at them. Peeta must have opened my window, its cold in here.

 

 

I open my mouth to tell him to go. That I'm fine now. My temporary lapse in judgment is over and that I don't need a babysitter.

 

“Whatever you aren't talking about Katniss,” He rushes out. “It's killing you.” I feel my face contort with fury.

 

“How dare you-” I start, a white-hot hate building behind my eyes.

 

“I'm afraid I am watching you die.” He says, so softly I can barely hear him. It takes all the fight out of me in a rush, leaving me standing hollowed out and aching in the middle of the room.

 

“Get out,” I say flatly, screwing my eyes shut and after a moment the door clicks quietly shut behind him.

 

I stand there, breathing hard, for a moment. I listen to his heavy footfalls descend down the stairs. Then I stomp across the room and slam the window shut. The wall shutters with the force of it. I crawl into the bathroom and wait while the water warms against my fingers. I strip off my sweat soured clothes and crawl beneath the warm spray where I promptly vomit up all the bile and vodka in my system. I heave on my hands and knees until there is nothing left inside but a twisting pain in my stomach.

 

I find some clean clothes laid out for me when I return to my room, I dress slowly and braid my wet hair back from my face. I catch myself in the mirror. I look like shit, my skin is sallow and blotchy. I have deep bruises under both my eyes, but it doesn't beat the hollowness I find inside. Just a blank nothing staring back at me.

 

I hear voices that make me pause on the stairs. Peeta and Effie.

 

“She's so angry,” Effie says. “Its hard to watch sometimes.” I press myself into the wood paneling, feeling like I could melt right into it.

 

“I just wish there was something I could do to help her,” Peeta says and his voice sounds forlorn, broken. I feel my chest heave but I don't register that I am breathing, that I am here, alive.

 

“Nothing to be done,” Effie says. “She'll get through it in her own time,” There is a long quiet where all I hear is the ticking of the clock on the mantel. “She used to be so different when she was young,” Effie says, I can almost see the way her shoulders sag beneath her weight. “I wonder if she'll ever be that girl again?”

 

“I never met that girl,” His voice is quiet and insistent. “I like the girl she is now,” Peeta says, but I am already heading back up the stairs and clicking the door shut quietly behind me. I sit on my bed with my knees pressed into my chest until I am sure I hear Peeta's truck pull away from the curb and roar down the road. Finally, I descend the stairs fully and work on pretending I didn't hear their conversation. Effie gives me a plate of food that I halfheartedly push around my plate. My uncle sleeps away the afternoon. I find a corner in my closet to curl myself in and fall asleep.

 

It is evening when Haymitch wakes me with a mug of broth. I take it and let the warmth seep into my fingers. “Come outside with me, kid.” He turns on his heel and I follow him. We fall onto the top step of the porch.

 

“He really loves you, you know,” Haymitch says, not taking his eyes off the floorboards beneath his feet. I take a sip of broth and it burns my tongue.

 

I feel my breath, sharp and quick in my chest. It feels like I have been stabbed in the gut and am bleeding out onto the pavement.

 

“I know,” I say softly. Not daring to raise my own eyes.

 

I'm going to hurt him, it's a thought that hits me like a stray bullet. For a moment I forget how to breathe. I don't care about the rest of the world, but Peeta, for some reason, I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to see the look on his face when he realizes what a monster I am. That I am not that girl that Effie remembers. She died along with my sister.

 

I stare at the cup in my hands and try not to give myself away, but my hands are shaking slightly and I can feel my uncle's hard gaze on me.

 

The next few days remain the same, Haymitch and Effie watch me like a hawk as I work on making myself still and empty of emotion but Peeta's words play over and over in my head like a record. _“I like the girl she is now.”_

 

How could he? I'm acid remember? caustic and bitter.

 

So when Finnick invites me to a party at a warehouse at the edge of the docks I jump at the chance to get out of the house, to his great surprise. I use a heavy hand with my eyeliner and I spend too long picking out my clothes. A thin t-shirt and tight jeans, all of my chains and rings. It jangles like chain mail when I walk. I braid my hair so it falls in a rope over my shoulder and finally I slip my leather jacket over my shoulder and wait at the edge of my bed.

 

 

 

Finnicks car wheezes up to the curb and I don't feel the wind on my face as we drive, but I know its there and the idea of it is comforting. Finnick doesn't say much on the drive but makes a joke about my clothes and how cold it is outside.

 

I want to feel the wind pricking at my skin, I want the cold to numb my fingers and bite at my lips and lungs, but it doesn't, all I feel is the black void that has been creeping up on me. So I stay quiet and Finnick doesn't speak again the whole drive, just lets me stare out the window.

 

The warehouse is packed with people, some my age, some older. The mill around outside with red cups filled with liquor. Some smoke cigarettes near the edge of the sandy lot that is serving as a parking lot.

 

I lose Finnick in the crowd almost immediately. He is swallowed by the giggling girls and boys that smell like menthol smoke and cologne. I shove my way through the people, jabbing an elbow when needed and then I am in the dank belly of the warehouse where pink and white lights blink with the bass of a song I've never heard. Bodies jostle, cups are tossed in the air and the floor is sticky with beer.

 

I'm looking for Peeta, even though I know I shouldn't. I jump, trying to see over the crowd of people. I land in a huff and push my way up to where two men are passing out cups of liquor. I pull a few crumpled ones out of my pocket.

 

 "Girls drink free." Someone says from behind me and I whirl around. A pair of blue eyes look down at me, amused. A pair of eyes I thought I'd never see again. What was his name? Daryl? No, Darius. I groan inwardly and try to twist away from him. "How have you been?" He tries. I roll my eyes. 

 

“Fine,” I say, trying to slip through the group of boys to my left, but the bodies are so tightly packed I can't shove my way between them and the group to the right of me is the same. I let out a noise at the back of my throat.

 

 

Someone hands me a cup and I gulp down the beer. Its awful, cheap, tastes like horse piss but its foamy and cold. I hear Darius chuckle from behind me. His red hair sticks up in every direction and freckles spatter the bridge of his nose. He smiles at me in an easy going way.

 

 

For a moment I can't breathe, The air is warm and smells like beer and sweat. I swear I can taste the breath of the people around me. Sweat trickles down my spine as my head starts to spin. I down the rest of my beer, throwing my head back. I ask for another.

 

 

“Do you want to dance?” Darius asks. “I don't mean to brag but I am a great dancer.”

 

 

“I'm sure,” I snort, my eyes scanning the crowd for honey blonde curls but I don't find them, so I resign myself. A dance sounds nice, with this blankness that is engulfing me. I nod and let him take my hand. I take one last look around before he yanks me into the crowd.

 

 

The bass is heavy and I let it pound into my body and reorder the beats of my heart. Its so easy to lose myself in it. After so long of not letting the music in, it's amazing how simple it is to simply dance. Let it bleed into my bones and move them. I am no longer in control. It is a terrifying thought but I am too far gone to care. Let me fall, Let me hit the ground.

 

 

Let me forget, for just a moment, that my sister called my name in terror, that she still does in my nightmares. Let me forget Peeta and his clear, baby blues that look right through me like he can see my core. Let me forget that I destroy everything I touch and that Peeta will be no exception.

 

 

I will be the death of him.

 

 

An arm winds around me, lean and hard. My head falls back and hits his chest. I am a girl on a fire. It hurts, burning, but I let it engulf me all the same. In this dark room it's easy. People knock into me and I slosh my beer on my shirt, cool against my skin.

 

 

I feel like I am losing my mind.

 

 

_This is wrong._ My sister says in my head. She always was the voice of reason in the family. I ignore her.

 

 

She wanted me to let go. This is me doing just that. I feel his lips on my neck and it jolts something inside of me. In my mind I see gold curls, I could reach up and touch them, soft against my hand. My hand reaches up and my eyes snap open.

 

 

This is wrong.

 

 

I run, pushing my way through the sweat-soaked crowd. Away from the lights and the dust and the cobwebs. I need air, now.

 

 

When I am finally outside I gulp in air on my knees in the dirt. For a long time I sit there, with my fingers scraping the ground. When my eyes finally open I see the crowd in the parking lot. I spot Delly first, in a pink dress and her ever present jean jacket with a cigarette between her fingers. Her curls are swept by the wind. Peeta and Johanna are next to her, laughing at something she's said. They're too far away to have seen me yet. I could inch my way back into the crowd. I don't, I stay there, hidden in plain sight.

 

 

“Hey, you okay?” Darius asks from behind me. He is holding two beers, one for each hand. I nod mutely, not daring to look at him. Finally, he holds a beer out to me and I take it but I set it in the dirt next to me.

 

 

He catches my line of sight and smiles tightly. “Is that your boyfriend?” He asks me and I don't know how to answer him. What is Peeta to me? We've been playing this game for months. I inch close to him, enamored by his charming smile and quick wit only to snap back when he gets too close to me, terrified of what he will find when he exposes my heart. What will he say when he sees the scarred black skin of it?

 

 

I don't want him to find me out.

 

 

“No,” I say and it tastes like a lie in my mouth, but I swallow that bitter down where it can sour my stomach. I shiver beneath the weight of it. He nods and a small smile ghosts his lips. For a moment I feel a pang of guilt in my stomach. Darius is a nice guy, he doesn't deserve this, me. The last time I saw him I used him to escape. And because I am a horrible person I'll do it again.

 

 

“Good then, you want to have some fun?” He asks with a crooked smile. That guilt multiplies inside of me, swells up and swallows me whole. I nod, with my heart in my throat and he takes my hand and drags me back into the crowd and as he does I take a fleeting look back. I wish I didn't. I am face to face with Peeta, whose eyes flick between my face and Johanna who is speaking to him.

 

 

For once I let myself be controlled, I let Darius take the lead. And when he holds out the small, white pill to me, I open my mouth and let him feed it to me. It tastes chalky and I swallow it dry. He offers me something else, I let it dissolve on my tongue.

 

 

Chaos erupts. I try to smile up at Darius who is winding his arm around me. For a moment I see a birds-eye view of myself and from above I look small, so small I could disappear. Not like I do in a crowd. For real, it could be like I never existed at all. I feel relief coursing through me. Finally, I am so lost no one has any hope of finding me.

 

 

_ This is wrong. _ Prim says.

 

 

_ Shut up _ . I command, and she does.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

I stumble into the bathroom nearly an hour later, my heart racing in my chest. Somehow I manage to drag myself to the sink. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to make my face make sense. My head is foggy and dense and my breathing is shallow. There is a ringing in my ears that won't go away. I look down and see my spindly arms propping me up against the sink shakily. I try to focus on breathing but I can't. My mind is static.

 

 

“Hey,” Its Delly looking like I might cut her down at any moment, and maybe if my stomach wasn't flipping inside of me I would. I think I mumble something. “Are you okay?” She sounds worried. I wish people would quit asking me that.

 

 

“I'm fine,” I try to say, I think I say it. I feel myself slide down to the floor. The world tilts and skews. I'm looking at the ceiling.

 

 

Everything is static around me.  _ Not real, _ background noise. Is this what it feels like to die?

 

 

“Hey, Stupid!” Someone is shouting it in my face. Johanna Mason. “Hey!” She has me by my jacket. I'm not sure how I ended up here, on the cool, dirty tiles of a bathroom. An eerie calm has sucked everything else out of me. I feel my eyes slide shut. “Katniss!” Why is she yelling at me? I open my eyes to slits. She sees something in them, something that scares her. Johanna Mason doesn't seem like someone who scares easily, so it sends icy panic down my spine.

 

 

“What did you take?” She says I feel my eyebrows knit together.

 

 

“What?” I ask, trying to focus on her face but its so hard when it feels like everything around me is under a sheet. I can see it as shadows and silhouettes but beyond that, it doesn't feel real.

 

 

“What the fuck did you take?” She says it slowly like I am a small child that doesn't understand. I think I hear someone laugh coldly, I think its me. My head hits the floor and there is a flurry of excitement as I lie stock still in the middle of the room. Girls have gathered around me as Johanna yells at them to give me some air.

 

 

It doesn't matter, The void has swallowed me.

 

 

_ Oh Katniss _ , My sister says. I feel my head loll to the side and I see her kneeling next to me. Her face inches from me. Her voice is soft when she whispers it. _ What have you done? _

 

 

I don't answer her, but my hand reaches out to touch her face. I blink and she is gone.

 

 

“Call an ambulance,” Johanna demands of someone and it brings me back somewhat.

 

 

“They'll call the police!” someone else screeches, some girl wearing too much lipstick.

 

 

“Who fucking cares!” Johanna says, ripping the phone out of her hand. I try to get up but my bones are made of lead, too heavy to carry. My head hits something soft, Delly has shoved her balled up jacket under my head. Someone is crying and I see Annie standing in the door, she disappears into the darkness behind her.

 

 

Peeta bursts in a moment later, Finnick on his heels. Annie clings to the door frame. I want to comfort her but I can't seem to speak. Peeta kneels next to my head.

 

 

“Katniss?” He whispers my name and I try to lift my face to look at him. “Stay still.” He demands and I do.

 

 

_ I am burning, real or not? _ I try to lift my hands to see what must be charred skin and scars but I still can't move. Someone is sobbing, it might be me or Annie, I can't tell.

 

 

Johanna is speaking into the phone furiously. Finnick is also on his phone, his hand fisting his hair as he paces the room. Delly is yelling at Peeta, who isn't paying any attention to her.

 

 

“Katniss it's going to be okay,” Peeta says gently, his hand grabbing mine. “You're going to be okay.” I can feel his fear, thick and palatable around me. It breaks my heart because I did nothing to deserve his worry.

 

_ Nothing is going to be okay again, Peeta _ . I want to say it but I don't.

 

 

“Don't die,” He whispers, a fierceness in his voice. My eyelids flutter furiously. I try to focus on his voice but I am falling. Blackness is at the edge of my vision and I can't hold on. “Please don't die.” He begs. “Stay with me.”

 

 

Where else would I be? I want to ask but I don't because I am slipping backward into the blackness.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

There is a light that is far too bright, right in my eyes and I whine in pain. People are shouting and I want to cover my ears with my hands but I can't because they are strapped to the railings on the bed. A man is trying to calm me down, he says something comforting and pushes the hair out of my face. I am burning. I am sure of it now, but if its fever or flame, I can't be sure.

 

 

They're prying my jaw open and they shove a tube down my throat. I gag and try to spit it out but they force it down. I feel it snaking its way down my throat and into my stomach. I wretch and cough as they suck out the contents of my stomach. All I can taste is the tang of my bile and saline that they've forced into me. Hands are all over me, working furiously. I try to fight them off but they are too strong or maybe its that I am too weak.

 

 

_ Just let me die _ . I beg inside my head as a coolness seeps into my stomach. Then I feel something warm running through in my veins, it makes my head foggy and dim. I slip back into the darkness.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

_ Music blares in my ears and thrums in my chest. I've never been to a concert, it's loud and raucous and I find myself singing along as loud as I can. Gale is smiling at me, I can't see him but I can feel it as he wraps his arm around my stomach and pulls me backward until my back is flush with his. _

_ People throb around us like heartbeats and knock into us. All I can smell is sweat and the fresh cut grass we are standing on. Gale bought me a pretzel I can taste the salt of it on my lips. _

 

 

_ “You having fun?” He shouts over the music. _

 

 

_ I nod, looking up at him and smiling. _

 

 

_ That is when he kisses me. I stand frozen for a moment, just breathing in his scent. He smells like oranges and sweat and smoke. I step back and look back at him. His hands are still locked on my face, so I can't escape him, I can't run away. _

 

 

_ “What was that?” I ask when my mouth finally works again. He just shrugs and smiles that cocky smile of his. I try not to make a big deal about it but when he looks away I can't stop my fingers from pressing into my lips. It was my first kiss, I don't register much but the warmth that his lips radiated. _

 

 

_ If that was kissing, it's sorely overrated. _

XX.XX

 

 

 

 

I come to life in an instant, I jolt upward and fall back almost instantly, my hands are still strapped to the bed. I feel hungover, tired, feverish. It feels like all of my seams have come apart and I am a mess of skin and rotted organs laying on the bed, open for all to see. There is a tube pumping sweet oxygen into my nose, tubes coming out of my arms. I am dressed in a paper gown and a blanket is thrown across my legs. My eyes adjust to the light and I slit my eyes open.

 

 

Peeta is looking at me with eyes alert but the bruises beneath his eyes tell me he probably hasn't slept in a good long while. I want to hide from those blue eyes. I feel the straps on my wrists strain as I try to pull away, anywhere he can't see me.

 

 

I open my mouth to tell him to stop looking at me.

 

 

“Don't try to speak,” Peeta croaks. “They said it'll take a while for your throat to heal.”

 

 

 

 

“How-” My throat is on fire. I wince in pain. My voice comes out raspy and strangled. “What-” I try again.

 

 

“Do you want some ice chips?” Peeta asks and I nod. He presses the button for the nurse and leans back in his chair.

 

 

“What happened?” I whisper hoarsely and Peeta shrugs with sagging shoulders. “Why are my arms strapped down?” I ask.

 

 

“You were scratching at your arms.” He says in a flat voice. I look at my arms, spindly and lank, long red welts run from my elbows to my wrists, they look angry. I look up at Peeta, he has his lips pressed into his fists and is leaned forward in his chair, watching me carefully. We don't say anything to each other for a long time, just staring, hoping the other will flinch.

 

 

“She's awake,” The nurse chirps. Peeta breaks, looking up at the nurse and smiling.

 

 

“Could we get some ice chips please?” She nods and says she'll get the doctor. Peeta turns back to me as she scurries out the door.

 

 

As soon as it swings shut behind her the tension blows in, making it hard to breathe.

 

 

“Katniss,” He says slowly, running his nail across the cloth strap holding me down to the bed. “Katniss, I need you to tell me something.” He spoons a few ice chips into my mouth and they practically sizzle down my throat. I moan in relief and for the first time I see the ghost of a smile on Peeta's lips. He gives me a few more then sets the plastic tub on a tray next to him.

 

 

I look at him, waiting to hear it. His tirade at me for being reckless. I wait to hear that he's tired of dealing with me and my constant need to hang off of rooftops. I can see him gearing up for a long winded speech. Probably that he never meant for any of this to happen. He never wanted me. It was all a joke. A cruel one sure, but not the worst thing to happen to me by far. My eyes slide shut, waiting.

 

Always waiting.

 

 

“Was it on purpose?” His voice is flat and monotone. My eyes pop open and I stare at him as he waits patiently for an answer.

 

 

I open my mouth and snap it shut again. What am I suppose to say? It seems my silence is answer enough and Peeta half laughs, half snorts. Its a bitter sound that drowns out the beeps of the various monitors behind me.It doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard come out of his mouth.

 

 

It pisses me off a little.

 

 

“I-” I try to say but fall silent, simply because my throat hurts too badly to say anything else. I don't even know what I was trying to say anyway. So I settle on glaring at him. How dare he judge me? Like he knows what it's like? To know all the days ahead will be as empty as the one you're in. That you have no way of making it better.

 

No, it wasn't on purpose. But, it wasn't an accident either.

 

 

I want to pull the blanket over my head and demand him to leave. I do neither, just glare at the wall. Peeta finally relents and leans forward, his fingers twining with my limp ones. His hands are warm and safe. I tighten my hold, just slightly and he smiles, lifting my hand as far as he can and kissing my knuckles.

 

 

“Don't,” I warn, my throat flares up with fire, I try to swallow it down. It just makes it hurt worse.

 

 

“Don't what? Don't kiss you?” He smiles humorlessly. “Don't care about you?”

 

 

“Just don't.” I say, laying my head against the cool pillow under me.

 

 

I hear the breath go out of him, I can almost see his nostrils flare. “Fine, Katniss.” It sounds resigned.

 

 

I can feel him thinking hard next to me but sleep is too tempting so I never talk to him about it. He drags the blanket up to my chest and sets his head on his arms, so he can grasp my hand. Just like that, we fall asleep, together. For a moment, right before sleep, I know that this isn't over. I know this is going to come back onto me, but I am so tired, I don't care.  


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to talk about it. The giant purple elephant in the room. The overdose, the pills, the red-headed man that gave them to me. I'd rather have my eyes plucked out than speak of it. Maybe that's my problem, I can't talk about it, any of it.
> 
>  
> 
> I did once, to the police, shouldn't that be enough?

_The offices are deserted this time of night. Part of me loves the solitude, another hates the loneliness that creeps in around eleven when the lights dim down. I walk the halls with my cart, collecting garbage from the cans, I dust the cobwebs from corners and sweep the floors. I shove my headphones over my ears and press play on my ancient walkman. The music starts and I keep moving no matter how tired I am, I have no other choice._

 

_Three in the morning is quitting time and I put away my cart, take off my coveralls and grab my bag. I clutch my keys and keep my eyes locked on the pavement my entire walk home. By the time I reach the porch I am exhausted. I shove my key into the lock and twist. The door pops open and I throw my bag to the floor._

 

_The house is dark, but Prim has left the kitchen light on for me. There is a plate with a slice of bread slathered in butter on it. I heat up a cup of soup and eat over the sink. I carry myself on numb feet toward the stairs. That is when I see Prim, passed out on the couch. Her hair is wild around her face. She looks peaceful, all youthful skin, her eyelashes dark spikes against her pale skin._

 

_I reach over and pull the blanket from the back of the couch over her. I tuck it around her too thin body careful not to wake her. She makes a noise and rolls over on her side. I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead, brushing her hair out of her eyes._

 

_Her hand reaches out subconsciously and grasps my finger. She used to do this as a toddler, fist my finger and hang on for dear life. It makes me smile and desperate to sob at the same time. With one last kiss on her cheek, I untangle my finger and make my way to bed._

 

_Had I known what was coming I would stay there all night, next to her. I'd Hold onto that finger until dawn until she forced me to let go._

 

_I am running out of time._

 

_XX.XX_

 

They keep me in the hospital for two hellish days. The cops try to talk to me and I lock my jaw and refuse to speak when they try to find out where I got the drugs in my system. Eventually, they just give up. The doctors treat me like a small child, too stupid to understand their big words. One nurse sneaks me extra jello cups with my lunch tray and she quickly becomes the only one I cooperate with.

 

Then Effie comes to retrieve me with a fresh set of clothes. They let me shower off the antiseptic smell and give me back my rings and chains. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to decipher if anything has changed. I don't see a difference, I am still skinny, sallow-skinned with eyes too large for my face. On the inside, I feel hollowed out, like I've lost something important.

 

I sign the discharge papers and Effie rushes me to the car before anyone can see. I set my forehead against the cool glass of the window and shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. The first thought I formulate when we pull up to the house is how abandoned it seems. No lights, just dark.

 

When I am standing in the doorway, I see my uncle perched at his seat in the kitchen. Our eyes meet for a long second before he reaches for the nearly full bottle in front of him, his eyes falling away from mine.

 

I slam my bedroom door behind me and turn to the quiet of my room. I strip down to my underwear and fall more than climb into bed. I am asleep almost instantly.

 

XX.XX

 

 

Effie is just shutting her bedroom door when I climb down the stairs. The clock on the mantel says its ten thirty when I dial Gale's number and sit cross-legged on the floor to wait, twisting my hand in the cord.

 

“Hello?” It's Rory.

 

“Hey Ror, it's Katniss,” I say, feeling nervous butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I haven't exactly been Rory's favorite person since Prim died. He too loved Prim fiercely and while he'd never admit it I can feel he blames me just as much as I do. It's sort of refreshing, better than everyone else who beats around the bush with useless platitudes and pathetic looks of sympathy. “Can I talk to your brother?”

 

“I guess,” he says and the line goes quiet for a moment.

 

“Catnip?” I wrinkle my nose at the nickname. “I haven't heard from you since Christmas.” It tastes like an accusation coming from Gale.

 

“I've been busy,” I say lamely, I can tell he doesn't believe me by the way he breathes. “Sorry,” I say, not really feeling all that sorry.

 

“Well, what have you been up to?” He asks after a short pause. The cord is wrapped so tightly around my fingers they've turned berry red. I let the cord snap away from my fingers. How am I suppose to answer that? “Oh, you know, not too much, just almost dying.”

 

“Just school,” I say. “How about you?” Gale seems like a safe subject and I listen politely as he tells me he dropped out of school to take a job at a mechanic’s down the street. I feel my heart drop into my stomach. Gale was always the smart one, forget me. He has an engineers mind with a 4.3 GPA. He had MIT begging him to test out. Too bad he has a family of five to feed. Maybe in another life.

 

“How've you been, really?” He asks in a flat tone I can practically see. Leave it to Gale, to know every inflection in my voice, every stifled sigh. I miss him so badly my chest aches with it. It spreads through me like a stain.

 

“I've just been-” I cut myself off with a sharp breath. I think of a thousand words I could use. Tired, lost, scared, empty, searching. “Fine.” I settle on and he huffs out a breath. I roll my eyes skyward and pick at my fraying shoelaces.

 

“I've been saving some sick time,” he says. “If you need me to come and get you.” His voice is too serious for it to be a joke. I hear myself choke.

 

“Gale,” My voice is so quiet I'm not sure if he heard me. “I- You can't.” He is willing to do it, I am sure of it. He would travel thousands of miles in his mothers beat up car for me. I can't let him, even if it was what I wanted, and I am not sure it is.

 

For some reason, I think of Peeta and the way he slept in the hospital with me. He didn't ask me to tell him I was okay, he knew I wasn't. He didn't ask me to pretend for his sake. He didn't ask me why or how or who. In fact, he didn't ask me to do or say anything. Just sleeping with his hand in mine was enough for him.

 

My head hurts, Thinking of Peeta and Gale is creating an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. I suck in one breath, then a second.

 

“Katniss?” Gale asks.

 

“I-I-” If Gale we're to come all the way out here, I'd be his. It would be expected, the forgiveness. He'd expect me to open my arms and thank him for saving me. As if I am someone who could be saved. Someone who wants to be saved.

 

 

I don't even say goodbye, I just click the phone back down on the receiver and I climb the stairs and sneak back into my room. Gale doesn't try to call back. I don't expect him to, but still, I am disappointed when he doesn't.

 

 

XX.XX

 

I slink down the stairs as quietly as I can, hoping to slip out without running into my uncle or Effie. I have no such luck though, Haymitch is waiting for me by the door. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as I glare at him.

 

“How are you feeling, kid?” He asks as I eye the coffee cup in his hand. I can smell the whiskey from here.

 

“Fine,” I snap curtly, hiking my bag up higher on my shoulder.

 

“Listen, I, uh-” His words tumble to the floor between us and I let them steep there. I don't help him at all. I just glare angrily until he moves out of my way. I shove passed him, reaching for the doorknob.

 

“Don't be me,” He says to my back. His words in a frenzy to leave his mouth.

 

I turn back to him and look him dead in the eyes. I feel the rage seeping in, the cold hatred for everything. I want to hurt him just as badly as I have been hurt.

 

“I'd rather be dead than be you.” My voice is cold and for a moment I regret it. His face falls for an instant before it settles into a cold mask.

 

If there is one thing Everdeens are good at, it is that mask. He doesn't say anything else, quiet follows the slam of the door behind me. I stand on the other side with hate filling my mouth like saliva.

XX.XX

 

I wander through school like a ghost in a haze. I only half listen to my teachers, spending a better part of the day staring out at the neatly manicured lawn, my head propped on my hand. The teachers leave me alone for the most part.

 

The students are another story. I'm not only the ice queen anymore, I'm the girl who broke up the party.

 

Johanna insists on walking me from class to class. I think its more for her sake than mine. I scared the shit out of everyone, so I except my fate with minimal griping and let her walk me. Delly chatters next to me as I try to duck Johanna and her watchful gaze.

 

That is why I don't see it right away. Johanna laughs incredulously and Delly squeaks next to me. My head snaps up.

 

DYE SLUT. Its written in lipstick across my locker. I hear snickering coming from Glimmer Darcy and her group down the hallway. Johanna watches them with hard eyes.

 

“Why does she hate me so much?” I wonder out loud, reaching out and smearing the S with my finger.

 

“Who knows?” Johanna says sharply.

 

“This is going to take forever to clean off.” I huff.

 

“You'd think with such an extensive education she'd be able to spell die correctly,” Johanna mutters loud enough for her to hear.

 

“She's rude,” Delly pipes up and I offer her a small smile. “You're rude!” She shouts at Glimmer, who rolls her eyes and wanders off. The amusement must have worn off.

 

“Well, you can't off yourself now,” Johanna says, taking a bite out of her apple that she's pulled from her bag. “Glimmer Darcy will get all the credit.”

 

I think I smile. “I wasn't trying to-” I stop talking because whatever I say now its clear Johanna won't believe it. She is smarter than anyone gives her credit for. “I didn't think of that.” I finish lamely and she smirks at me, apple juice running down her chin.

 

 

 

XX.XX

 

I studiously avoid Peeta, but as I walk through the door of world religion I can feel his eyes on me from his desk. I keep my eyes on the ground and stumble for my seat. Only when I am firmly planted in my hard-backed chair do I risk looking up.

 

He has swiveled in his seat, his eyes roam over me as if looking for wounds that only exist deep beneath my skin. He won't find them just by looking, he'll have to reach farther. His eyes cut into me and make me feel open and sore. Finally, he sees me as I am. The chattering of the class is too loud, I fight the urge to cover my ears with my hands.

 

I can't do this.

 

I swing my bag up onto my shoulder and run out of the room, desperate for freedom from his cool blue eyes. I am halfway down the hall before I turn to look back, wondering if he might be following me. The hallway is empty. There are no heavy footfalls behind me.

 

I turn and push my way through the front door.

 

Fuck Peeta and those baby blues. I never asked him to save me. I never wanted to be saved. Why did he have to push me out of the way of that car? It would have been kinder to let me die with my ghosts by my side.

 

I am soaked to the bone before I even reach the parking lot. My shirt sticks to me like a second skin and water sloshes against my boots. I raise my face to the rain, wishing it could wash away all of this pain.

 

“Katniss!”

 

He must have followed me after all. I pivot around to look at him. Rain is darkening his hair and drips off the end of his nose. He reaches for me and I duck away from him. I try to fix my face into my signature scowl but I feel it falls flat.

 

“What do you want?” My voice hangs in the hollow between us. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight to the balls of his feet and back again. “Go away,” I say with finality. He doesn't turn and leave, he doesn't come close either.

 

“Is that really what you want?” He asks, his voice flat and void of emotion. I feel my lip tremble and I struggle to keep my mask in place.

 

What I should say is yes. I should let it hit him hard, straight in the chest. I should watch his face fall and his shoulders sag as he walks off. Its what I deserve, its what I am good at. Why can't I say it? My mouth flops open and shut again.

 

He pushes his way passed me and walks further out into the parking lot, pulling his keys from his pocket. I turn back to the door, any moment a teacher is going to burst out and drag me back into the class of empty-eyed rich kids. I turn back and watch Peeta's back as he walks toward the warmth and safety of his truck.

 

I don't realize I am running until I hit his truck, terrified he will leave without me. I climb into the cab and pull the seat belt over my shoulder before he can demand me out.

 

“You sure you won't get in trouble for this, Al Capone?” I ask as I shiver. Peeta smiles, just slightly and turns up the heater.

 

“If you're the Bonnie to my Clyde, I don't really care.” He says with a wink.

 

XX.XX

 

 

Rain thumps against the roof of the truck, a song in and of itself. I tap out the rhythm with my fingers on the window. Peeta is careful not to look directly at me, keeping his glances fleeting, from the corner of his eye.

 

I feel like I did when I was younger and starving. Slow and tired with white stars at the edge of my vision. I lean my face against the cold glass and watch the trees blur passed us. We pull up his driveway that has turned into a mud pit.

 

I look at Peeta, hoping he can give me something I don't have inside of me, courage, hope, help. He looks at me with eyes wide. The rain pounds on and I feel small, encased in metal. “Want to come inside?” He asks meekly. I can't find my voice to tell him yes or no, so I nod.

 

We make a run for his door but something stops me at the threshold, Its metal and huge. It takes me too long to formulate what it is exactly. Then it clicks in my head. Its a statue, made from the twisted metal of the bumper of a car.

 

A girl.

 

A ballerina.

 

My sister chases me.

 

Her eyes are made from broken bottles, a mosaic of green and blue and brown, She is elegant, with her back bowed and her face a blank mask. I am trembling under her stare. I stumble to a stop and blink at her.

 

“Katniss?” Peeta is standing in the doorway. I turn slowly to glare at him. How did he know? How did he know she was a ballerina? The simple answer is he didn't. This faceless girl made of twisted metal is not my sister.

 

This is the moment I am completely sure that Haymitch was right. It will always hurt like the first day. The throb in my heart swells and runs through my veins, spreading to every inch of my muscles, seeps into my bones and robs me of my voice.

 

I feel hollowed out and alone.

 

“What?” I point at the sculpture.

 

“Do you like her?” He asks. “I was hoping you would, I've been working on her for months.”

 

“You made her?” I reach out and touch her, cold metal. My sister is cold too, six feet under. Her broken and bloodied body fodder for worms now.

 

“Yeah,” He says softly, shyly. I want to spit at him that I never want to see her again. She reminds me of my ghosts and I have enough reminders. His face is so hopeful that I work my face into what I hope looks like a smile.

 

“She's beautiful,” I say.

 

It is the truth, but I never want to see her again.

 

Peeta pulls me through the door and helps me strip my jacket off. The inside of his trailer is warm. I rub my hands together and try to work feeling back into them. Peeta is saying something but my mind is still outside with the metal girl.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Sorry, the roof in the bedroom still needs some work, it might be a little drafty in here.” I shake my head. I hadn't noticed.

 

“S'okay,” I manage to say as I wring out my hair and pull down my still damp shirt. An awkward silence blankets us and I study my shoes until Peeta clears his throat and offers to get me a towel. I don't say anything, but I let him get the towel.

 

He comes back dressed in a t-shirt speckled with paint and loose fitting jeans. He has a sweater balled up in his hands.

 

“I brought this for you,” He says hesitantly handing it to me. I stare at it a moment before taking it.

 

“Why?” It sounds violent in the quiet. I look down at my shirt and notice that the flimsy white material is wet rendering it completely see-through. I sigh as Peeta turns around. The sweater is soft, like it has been washed a thousand times. It smells like him, cloves and vanilla and shampoo. The color is nice, a deep midnight blue.

 

“Okay,” I say when I've pulled it over my head. Peeta smiles when he sees the sweater hanging from my slight frame. It makes my heart stop for a moment, the flash of his white teeth in the half dark of his tiny living room.

 

He ushers me to the couch and his hand lands on the small of my back to guide me. He blushes deep but his hand remains for just a moment longer before he retracts it.

 

“I don't have any hot chocolate, sorry.” He says softly and I shrug it off.

 

He wants to talk about it. The giant purple elephant in the room. The overdose, the pills, the red-headed man that gave them to me. I'd rather have my eyes plucked out than speak of it. Maybe that's my problem, I can't talk about it, any of it.

 

I did once, to the police, shouldn't that be enough?

 

But Peeta doesn't talk about it. He takes my hands in his and works on getting the blood flowing again by rubbing them between his calloused, work-worn hands.

 

“I'm so tired, Peeta.” I sound like a complaining child. I risk a look upward, through my lashes and see him looking down at me, his eyes colored with something soft and kind.

 

“Is that what it is?” He asks. Truth is, it isn't, there is so much to say. So much I need to work out.

 

“Would that be enough?” I ask, my voice cracking.

 

“If that's what you need, then sleep.” He says softly. So I do, I pull my boots off and tuck up on his couch and he encloses me under a slew of heavy blankets, and when my head hits the soft pillow he has procured, I am fast asleep.

XX.XX

 

 

_The man that was dragging me practically throws me at Gale, telling him to keep me out of the way. I stagger back into his chest and Gale catches me around the middle as I scream every foul name I can think of at the man._

 

_An ambulance driver, coming to take her away._

 

_He can't have Prim._

 

_The last thing left keeping me alive._

 

_“Don't touch her!” I scream, fighting Gale with everything I have. He touches Prim gently, turning her head so it falls and looks right at me. Her eyes blank and glassy, look right through me. I feel something shatter inside of me as my knees buckle. Hot tears mark a path down my face and drip off my chin. My knees hit the pavement, hard. “Don't touch her!” I shout again, all the good its doing, no one is listening._

 

_I can only watch helplessly as they swath her in black plastic and toss her into the back of the ambulance like she's nothing more than a bag full of garbage or dead leaves._

 

_As if she wasn't a girl just an hour ago. A girl that danced in the Nutcracker, a girl that liked orange juice and salt on her watermelon._

 

_Her backpack is still on the ground, soaked in deep red._

 

_“Katniss, you need to calm down.” It is Gale, his voice instant but soft. I am still on my knees as everyone behind the yellow tape gawks at us and the bloody mess that my sister left behind. One woman is eating a hot dog, another smokes a cigarette, craning her neck to see the man in front of her. I feel the hatred seeping in, cold like antiseptic in my veins._

 

_Fucking vultures._

 

_“Katniss, you need to stand up.” His arms are still around me, trying to pull me upward. All of the hatred I have in me gets sucked to my very core. I fight my way out of his strong arms and whirl on him. I practically spit all of my hatred on him like acid._

 

 

XX.XX

I dream in shades of red, dark and rich and pooling and when I gasp awake Peeta is there and without thinking I launch myself straight into his waiting arms. I am sobbing, a wrenching sound from deep within my chest. Peeta wraps his arms, warm and steady around me and tangles his fingers in my hair as I struggle to breathe.

 

“It's okay,” He whispers. “It was just a dream.”

 

But it wasn't, not really. It happened during the first snow of the year. I open my mouth to tell him that but the words won't come so I settle on pressing my face into his chest and letting him rub soothing circles on my back.

 

I feel like a coward, I don't deserve this comfort. I don't deserve Peeta, not in the least. I pull away to look at him, in the soft light of a lamp, he looks golden. His curls gleam and I can see the stubble on his jaw. I try to memorize his eyes, a sugary blue. I want to save it for nights when I don't have his arms waiting for me.

 

I come from the seam, an open wound, a hum, a broken whisper. I know all about fighting for scraps and this is the moment I realize that I will accept whatever scraps Peeta is willing to give me because his affection feels like a balm on all of my cracked, sore places. So I will take the comfort that is offered to me.

 

No matter the cost to him.

 

 

I'm selfish, I know this.

 

His eyes are just so blue and his body is so solid and strong and I am so broken, my foundation cracked until all that is left inside is a great, black chasm that could not possibly be filled. I lift my head to look at him.

 

I want to hate him. I want to hate him so badly, but I don't.

 

So I kiss him.

 

Maybe its a case of temporary insanity. Maybe I am trying desperately to get him out of my system. Whatever the reason the second I press my lips against his I feel something crackle to life deep within my chest. I hate the  _feeling_ of it. The warmth that spreads from my fingers that are locked in his hair, to my stomach that flips inside of me, to my toes that curl in my socks.

 

Peeta breaks us apart because I am not strong enough.

 

“Katniss,” His voice is rough and breathy. My lips find his again and I practically climb up him. He pushes me back, with hands gentle and urgent. “Katniss?” He searches my face and I feel my face fall. Hot rejection courses through me. I try to break free of his arms, not wanting him to see my flushed face.

 

“Hey,” He says gently, holding tightly and forcing me to look up at him, through eyelashes soggy with tears. “Are you with me?” He asks, my chin quivers and I look up at the ceiling so my tears don't fall down my face.

 

I can't speak so I nod.

 

He doesn't try to kiss me again, but he runs his hands down my back and pulls me to him, holding me against his chest.

 

“What time is it?” I ask when I finally find my voice.

 

“Nine-oh-eight,” Peeta says, glancing at his phone.

 

Fuck.

 

“I should go,” I stammer out, standing on quaking legs. “I didn't expect to sleep so long, Effie is probably freaking out.”

 

Peeta leaves to change and get his car keys and my eyes rove over the tiny room. There is a small television and on top, a single picture.

 

I walk over and pick it up.

 

 

A group of blonde boys sitting on a green lawn under a blue sky. They look so happy, tumbling over each other to get a seat in the photo. I spot Peeta immediately, he's a chubby toddler but his eyes sparkle in the same way they do now. I run my thumb across his face and smile just slightly. Next to him is a boy that can only be Cato, his arm around Peeta's shoulder, his smile gap-toothed and innocent in a way only a child can be. What happened to them?

 

I set the frame back on the T.V. Feeling like I have intruded on something private. Something Peeta might not want me to see.

 

“Hey,” I turn to see Peeta watching me. It is in this moment I realize we are more alike than I ever realized. I can see it in the color of his eyes.

 

We will both do anything to stay alive.

 

XX.XX

 

The drive home is quiet and I find myself gravitating toward Peeta, I slide across the seat and tuck my head against his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but smiles and wraps his arm around my shoulder as he drives. The air inside of the cabin of the truck is cold, but Peeta is so warm I can't muster the strength to care.

 

Peeta slows the truck when we reach my street and I think maybe he doesn't want the moment to end. I open my eyes and turn.

 

A police cruiser sits with its lights on but no one inside. I feel my heart drop and my stomach lurch as Peeta stops the truck in the middle of the street. I leap out of the truck and run through the lawn, rain pelting me.

 

The door swings open, wide and yawning and I stop cold at the look on Haymitch's face. He looks frightened and for my uncle to look frightened it must be something bad. Something horrible.

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” He spits at me.

 

Shit. It was me, I put that look there.

 

“Haymitch,” I say uselessly.

 

“It was my fault,” Peeta says immediately, I didn't realize he had followed me. I feel his hand grope in the dark for mine. I grasp it, hard. “I kept her out late.” Peeta doesn't look at me, but I am watching him. So quick to take the blame for me.

 

“I should have called,” I say softly, looking at my boots.

 

“Damned right you should of,” Haymitch stomps down the stairs to glare at me. “You just left school, what the hell were you thinking?”

 

“I wasn't, I just-”

 

“You just what?”

 

 

“I-I-” what do I even say? I fell asleep, at Peeta's, that would go over real well.

 

“She was having a hard time, I took out to lunch at the point.” Peeta lies smoothly. “We got caught up talking. I'm sorry.” Peeta says. I glance at him out of the corner of my eyes. He's a gifted liar, something that has eluded me even when it would be adventitious to me. I wonder how he got so good? I swallow the lump in my throat as the Police officer comes out, Effie on his heels.

 

“Thank God,” She whispers.

 

“Miss Everdeen, we meet again.” I squint at the policeman. Right, he was in my hospital room. The one with all the questions. “Had us worried young lady.”

 

“Just my nature I guess,” I say smugly.

 

“Just like I told your lovely aunt,” He winks in my direction. “You were probably out with a boy, you'd turn up sooner or later.” He appraises Peeta for a moment before giving him a smile that seems too saccharine for his face.

 

“Mr. Mellark, How nice to see you again.”

 

“Wish I could say the same, Officer Cray.” Peeta grits out. His hand locking around mine so hard I yelp. I look up at him sharply. Peeta's jaw is taut and his hands are tight fists. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, locked on Crays' face.

 

“Don't let this girl get you into trouble now, wouldn't want to see you back at my desk.”

 

“Wouldn't dream of it, sir.” I snort because I have a problem with authority, also, I am an idiot.

 

“Watch your mouth, miss.” The creeps, this guy gives me the creeps. “Say hi to your cousin for me won't you?”

 

“That would violate my parole, sir,” Peeta says smartly. The officer glares at him but says nothing more to us. With a quiet goodbye at Haymitch and Effie, he strolls across the lawn and climbs in his car. Once he is safely down the street my aunt descends on me.

 

“Get inside young lady.” She grabs my arm and pulls me up the stairs, Peeta keeps a strong hold on my hand until finally, she pries us apart.

 

“I'll talk to you soon, Katniss.” He says softly, earning a hard look from my uncle who stays behind to watch him leave.

 

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

I am trying to focus on filling ketchup bottles but I feel Finnick watching me carefully, waiting for me to do something crazy maybe. Finally, I turn on him, prepared to say something scathing. He's leaned against the door frame, looking deflated and broken.

 

“What?” I snap, my voice cold and hard.

 

He doesn't say anything at first, just shakes his head, his watery eyes falling to the ground. He bites his lip and when he looks up at me I see the hollowness inside.

 

“Katniss,” There is nothing playful in his tone, there is no teasing “Kitty Kat.” Nothing left of the Finnick I thought I knew.

 

“I'm so sorry,” His voice starts strong but ends in a tenuous whisper. I drop the ketchup bottle I'm holding back onto the counter. “I never should have taken you to that party.”

 

“It wasn't your fault,” I say, surprised he could think that.

 

“I never-”

 

“It wasn't your fault,” I say more forcefully.

 

“you're my friend,” He says, running his hand through his hair. “I just don't want you to hurt.”

 

Too late, Finnick. I think I don't say it though. I remember how his mother died, all of that pain internalized. He has been trying to help me since I met him. He couldn't help his mother, he couldn't save her.

 

Just like I couldn't save Prim.

 

It is a special hell, the place where Finnick and I reside. An empty room with just your faults for company. A place you can't escape how alone you are.

 

“It's alright Finnick, I'm okay, really.” He nods but it's clear he doesn't believe me.

 

He doesn't believe me through the dinner rush, or clean up or even when Thresh insists we all sit at the bar and play a game of dominoes. He drives me home with rain pelting his windshield.

 

He pulls up to the curb and parks, watching the water slide down the glass.

 

“I'm sorry,” He says again.

 

“Finnick,” I say. “you're forgiven.” His eyes meet mine. I've said it for his sake, not mine because I realize its all I have wanted to hear, all of this anger, hatred, all I want is to hear that I am forgiven for the crime of letting my sister out of my sight. Letting her die.

 

Finnick reaches out and pushes my bangs from face.

 

“No, I'm not,” He says simply but his voice doesn't sound pitying or angry, just matter of fact. “but thank you for saying it.”

 

 

Can Finnick and I truly be forgiven? I guess that is left to be seen. I feel something swell in my chest and erupt, bathing me in red and black.

 

XX.XX

 

 

I'm grounded for my little 'stunt.' with Peeta, it doesn't stop me from climbing out of my window and shimmying down the lattice. This thing has magnified inside of me, making me feel too big for my room, the house, the whole damned world.

 

I walk to the end of the street to wait for Peeta and when his truck pulls up to me I climb in without a backward glance. He is looking at me, his hair wild around his pale, worried face.

 

“Katniss, what's wrong?” He says. I stare at him so long he gets uncomfortable and fidgets in his seat. Finally, I look at the floor, only then am I brave enough to say it.

 

“Tell me it is my fault.” My voice cuts through the night.

 

“What?” His fingers reach for my shoulder and jolt back away from him. He sighs in a long-suffering way.

 

“Tell me it was all my fault!” I'm shouting now.

 

“Katniss, I don't know what happened exactly, but I know one thing for sure.” He pauses. “It wasn't your fault.”

 

I crumble like clay beneath his touch. He pulls me to him and I sob against his chest. I am trembling, breaking, shattering.

 

I want forgiveness, I want to be blamed, I want to die.

 

I want to feel again.

 

Something, anything.

 

I kiss Peeta with lips salty with tears.

 

Heat spreads through my chest, ignites my belly and leaves me breathless. I fist his shirt, trying to pull him closer. He doesn't push me away, just lets my pain rage against him and when I need to breathe he lets me shove him away as I fall against the door, boneless and drained of energy.

 

“Tell me it was my fault, don't forgive me,” I say, my voice cracking.

 

He can't give me the one thing I want. He stays silent, but the car is moving. I don't bother with my seat belt. I just watch the roof of the truck as Peeta drives.

 

We end up at an abandoned building and Peeta tries the door. I sigh when it doesn't budge. I feel hollow and tired, I just want to sleep away this emptiness. Coming here was a bad idea.

 

“Got a bobby pin?” he asks. I pull one from my hair and hand it to him.

 

“Maybe we should just go,” I say from between gritted teeth, but by the time the words leave my lips he is swinging the door open.

 

“Your castle awaits, princess.” He says with a smirk.

 

My eyes are heavy as lead but they still fly skyward with a snort. I drag my feet across the threshold.

 

“You weren't kidding, you really are good at picking locks aren't you?”

 

“I had a lot of time on my hands when I was younger.” He says, taking my hand in his warm one. We climb the rickety wood stairs and end up in a room with peeling paint and layer of shattered glass and rotting wood on the floor. Peeta leads me across the room to a busted out window. I can see the light snaking its way upward, the world waking up around us.

 

The sky is bleeding orange and pink. It steals the breath from my chest.

 

Is this even real?

 

“Tell me it was my fault,” I try again weakly.

 

“Is that what you tell yourself?” He says, “That it was your fault?” I can't speak so I nod.

 

“It was,” I say. “It was my fault. I never should of let her out of my sight.” My chest is heaving, pounding. “I let her go, and she died.”

 

“So you deserve punishment?” He asks and I nod.

 

“Bullshit.”He seethes. “Bad things happen Katniss, even to good people, it isn't fair or right but it happens, every day, you couldn't control that any more than this sun rising.”

 

I meet his eyes slowly. My whole body breaks beneath his words. I might as well be the glass on the floor, a wave breaking on the sand. Blood seeping into the pavement.

 

“It was my fault.” My voice is getting weaker and weaker each time I say it.

 

“No.” Peeta stays firm, strong and steady.

 

“My fault,” I end in a whisper.

 

“No.”

 

I dissolve right there, my legs giving out as I slide down to the dirty boards beneath my feet. Peeta catches me before I disappear altogether and pulls me onto his lap, letting me fall limp against his chest.

 

We could stay this way forever, maybe we do, maybe that morning never ends. His arms wrap around me and hold me there when I feel like I am going to float away and I let him.

 

I feel it flicker in my chest, hot and bright and new.

 

Hope.

 

That's when I know. I feel dread thick as cough syrup, rising up into my throat.

 

Once hope shows up it is just a matter of time before someone gets hurt.

 

XX.XX

_Dried weeds dot the cracks in the driveway as I walk out to meet Gale between our houses. The lawn is wet and green, winter is here in all her fury. I can smell snow on the horizon, crisp and cold. The houses along the street are batten down with the threat of the impending storm. The street is quiet and the smell of woodsmoke is everywhere._

 

_I feel a finger run down my spine and I jolt, my body twisting, hand connecting with the lean muscles of Gales' stomach._

 

_“Fuck, Catnip,” He growls, “What was that for?” He's doubled over and briefly, I feel sorry as he coughs and straightens as the anger flashes through me._

 

_“That'll teach you,” I snarl, “Sneaking up on people like that,” I smirk at him as he cusses at me some more._

 

_“Fuck you too, Catnip,” I smirk at him and he relents, tugging on my earlobe and offering me a drag of his cigarette._

 

_“You hungry?” He asks._

 

_I am, starving in fact, still, I shake my head._

 

_“Come on, Mom made more stew than we can eat.” Its a lie, family like his someone is always hungry but it makes him mad when I refuse and I am in no mood for an argument so I let him drag me to his house where Hazelle says I am too skinny and ladles me up a bowl._

 

_We sit out on the porch steps in silence we both have become accustomed too. The stew is rich and thick and tastes like heaven. So hot it burns my tongue but I can't stop shoveling it into my mouth. And why should I? After all, my next meal isn't promised._

 

_When my spoon scrapes the bowl Gale laughs. “Anybody ever tell you that you eat like your never gonna see food again?” I shrug my shoulders, the warmth of the stew dissipating rapidly, I shiver and blow on my hands to try and work some feeling into them._

 

_Gale shrugs off his heavy jacket and puts it around my shoulders. I freeze, my breath caught somewhere between my throat and my chest. I guess I think if I go still he'll feel my discomfort and take it off. He doesn't because Gale can be dense sometimes._

 

_I shrug the jacket off and let it fall behind me. I don't look up from the cement but I hear Gale's sharp intake of breath, his nostrils flare._

 

_“Catnip,” He starts and I can't let him finish because I know where this is going and I am not ready for it. He wants me to smile, hold his hand, kiss his lips._

 

_“I should go,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper. I am trying to run down the stairs but he has my hand and pulls me back down._

 

_“Hey, don't run off.” His voice is so commanding that I do as he says. Still, I glare at him as he rubs soft circles into my hand. “I just want to talk about it.”_

 

_“I don't,” I say._

 

_“That's it then?” He snarls. “I don't even warrant a moment of conversation.”_

 

_“It isn't that.” I snarl back at him._

 

_“What is it then?”_

 

_“I don't want it!” I blurt, right in his face. He doesn't look shocked or angry, and he definitely doesn't look defeated. He's just blank and quiet, waiting for me to speak as I search his face for any sign of life. “I don't want any of it.” I snarl, my hands twisting in my hair. I don't want love, not the kind he's expecting from me. It only brings death, and starvation, and emptiness. Doesn't he know? Shouldn't he understand that it all could be taken from you in an instant, in smoke and twisted metal?_

 

_People die, all the time._

 

_Doesn't he know how mortal he is?_

 

_“You're so scared, Katniss.” I cringe at the sound of my name, a tight-lipped hiss. “So fucking scared to feel anything.”_

 

_He's right and it pisses me off._

 

_“Fuck you, Gale,” I spit in his face. “How dare you-” His lips are on mine, heat radiates from him as he crushes his lips to mine. For a moment I am shocked into silence, then I feel the rage like bile in my throat._

 

_I shove his face away from mine and am up, stalking across the yard with stiff, jerky steps._

 

_“Catnip!” He's chasing me, He reaches his long arm out and hooks my elbow, spinning me around. “I'm sorry, just-” I shove him away from me, staring at him with all the venom I have._

 

_“I don't have time for this!” All of the desperation that has been building in me since my father died comes out in that one sentence. All of the blank-eyed hatred for my mother, fear for Prim. It all comes out in a roar that pierces the entire silent block. A flock of birds takes flight from a nearby tree. Gale stares at me like he's afraid to move. My chest heaves and I feel the hot prick of tears behind my eyes and I will myself not to cry. Not in front of him._

 

_“Prim will be out of dance in an hour, then I get to come home and make her dinner. Then I have to go to work, until three in the goddamned morning.” Tears threaten to spill but I hold steady, my voice only shaking slightly. “I'm lucky if I get four good hours of sleep before school, Gale, So I have to go. I don't have any fucking time for you.”_

 

_I regret the words instantly. His face caves so slightly anyone else wouldn't notice, but I do._

 

_“Katniss,” I hate the look in his eyes. He feels sorry for me. I want to rage against him, gouge out his eyes, claw at his chest, slap him across the face. I'm exhausted, too tired to deal with Gale and his wounded pride. He reaches for me._

 

_“No, don't,” I demand and he doesn't listen, he usually doesn't. He sets his hand on my shoulder and ducks down to look me in the eyes._

 

_“You just need a rest,” I hear the hopeful tone in his voice and I hate it. “You need money? I can get you money, Katniss.”_

 

_“I don't need your help.” I seethe._

 

_“If you had a different job, could things be different?”_

 

_I am so mad at him I could spit, still he looks so desperate I can't seem to find it in me to snap something sharp-tongued or quick-witted at him. He gives me that look, the one he gives only me. It's a crooked, wry smile._

 

_He's my best friend._

 

_My anger is slowly ebbing away. Leaving me hollow in the dirt and weeds in the front yard. I scuff my boot against the hard packed dirt and look at the siding of my house instead of him so that he can't see the guilt on my face._

 

_“Maybe,” I say lamely. From the look on his face, I can tell we both know this is all I can offer him. Gale will want more because Gale always wants more from me, but for now, he is placated. He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead as I shove him away, more playful now than angry. My wrath fizzles to almost nothing._

 

_“It'll be okay,” He promises. “You'll see.”_

 

_But he's wrong, it won't be okay._

 

_This is the beginning of the end._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you stay?” I ask, already halfway to sleep. His vanilla scent lulling me down into the blackness.
> 
>  
> 
> This time I just catch it on his tongue, right before my fall into the oblivion.
> 
>  
> 
> “Always.”

_The morning Prim dies I wake up later than normal. Prim's bed is rumpled, freshly slept in, but she is nowhere around. I stand and wrap a blanket around my shoulders and pad gently down the stairs. I wipe the sleep from my eyes as I sit at the table and wait for the kettle to sing when it does I pour two mugs of tea and head for the porch._

 

_Its cold, so cold I could see my breath if it wasn't caught in my chest. Prim is on the porch, practicing for her recital tonight. Her body is fluid as water and she moves with a grace I could never hope to achieve. She pours her own heartache into her dancing, the way I pour my heart out with guitar strings._

 

_Her spine bends and she falls to the ground, she looks like rose petals on the peeling white paint. Soft lily pink and those endless blue eyes, she looks otherworldly, empty, too full. Alien entirely to this world, far too perfect to exist. The one good thing I have done in my life._

 

_I sit in the doorway and watch until the music fades and she stands to stretch out her arms over her head._

 

_“Good morning, duck,” I say softly, holding out the mug of tea. Her nose is pink with cold and she takes it with a grateful smile. I almost warn her it's too hot to drink, but that's silly, she's twelve, she doesn't need me in that way anymore._

 

_Still, I should've said it._

 

_“Good morning,” She says, sipping her tea and looking out across the lawn, green and wet. “Feels like it's going to snow.” She says, her voice tinged with excitement._

 

_“Yeah,” I say lamely._

 

_“How was work?” She asks. I shrug my shoulders, I don't want to tell her the office I was working at is closing its doors. I need to find a new job, hopefully one that doesn't keep me out so late._

 

_Her eyebrows kink together and she cocks her head. Her blonde hair is escaping the knot she pulled it in, a tendril falls into her face and she brushes it back absentmindedly._

 

_“Everything okay?” She asks and I force a smile on my face and nod. She doesn't believe me, but I hide my face behind my mug before she can say anything. She shouldn't have to worry about things like money or how we will pay the heating bill. She should be focusing on school, dancing, getting the hell out of the seam._

 

_I wrap the blanket around myself tighter. Prim steps forward and falls down next to me, her head tucking into my shoulder automatically. I unravel the blanket so she can crawl inside next to me. I kiss her forehead, she smells like lavender, sweat and tea leaves._

 

_We stay like that for a while, the two of us pressed together like our lives depend on each other and in a way that I hadn't fully understood, they do._

 

_“I love you.” She whispers, her breath warm in my ear. My hand comes up and smooths back her hair, soft as feather down._

 

_“I love you, too,” I whisper back._

 

_I have said it to her in more ways than one. I've patched up skinned knees and kissed bruises. I've cried when she has and smiled at her laugh. I've held her when she was sick and kissed her as she slept._

 

_Still, I wish I said it one more time. I should have held onto her a little longer, climbed into bed with her and slept away the morning, taken her to breakfast, a movie. Bought her the yellow daffodils she was admiring on the street corner the other day._

 

_I should have walked her all the way to school._

 

_I should have done a lot of things._

 

_Not that it fucking matters now._

 

XX.XX

I sit cross-legged in front of Peeta, my eyes meet his skeptically as he sets a plain, white canvas in front of me. My room suddenly feels too small to hold the both of us. I gather up my legs and watch as he carefully sets jars of paint in front of me.

 

So many colors.

 

Lavender

 

Mint green

 

Ivory white

 

Blood red

 

When he is done he watches me carefully, waiting for me to move, but I don’t, so we end up awkwardly staring at each other. He clears his throat and holds out a brush to me.

 

“Come on,” He says, poking the air with the brush. “What do you have to loose, Everdeen?”

 

Everything. I think, but I don’t say anything. I take the brush from him and dip it into the red. My hand pauses over the canvas. So clean and new and sure to be ruined by my hand.

 

“There is no wrong way to do it, Katniss.” He says gently, his hand coming out and touching mine. I force myself not to cringe back. His hand guides mine down until the paint smears across the canvas.

 

“There we go,” He says with a gentle smile. “See, it’s easy.” But I am not really listening, I’m too busy looking at the red.

 

I drop the brush to the ground.

 

As if he can sense the direction my thoughts are taking he removes the canvas and brings up another one.

 

“Let's try a different color, huh?” He dips a brush in the lavender and hands it to me.

 

I smear the purple around at random. When I look up Peeta is smiling up at me hopefully.

 

“It looks like a rabbit,” I say finally.

 

He laughs, a light sound.

 

But that is just like Peeta. Surrounded by white light.

 

“I guess,” He says.

 

“I told you I’d suck at this,” I say softly. “My mom was the painter in the family.”

 

I freeze.

 

I said too much.

 

“Yeah,” Peeta says finally, “Maybe you didn’t get the artist gene in the family.”

 

I laugh.

 

Peeta is laughing too.

 

When I look up I see Haymitch and Effie watching us from my doorway, both their bodies crammed into the tiny space. Haymitch has his eyes wide with something like wonder.

 

“What?” I snap.

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Nothing, kid,”

 

 

XX.XX

Peeta invites me out to his brother's bar. He winks when he tells me to wear something nice and I feel my stomach bottom out at the sight. I tell him I'll wear whatever I like and if he doesn't like it he can get bent. This makes him laugh. Still, I rim my eyes in black and paint my lips and find myself trying on everything I own and feeling incredibly stupid when I do.

 

Why do I care?

 

I still feel stupid standing in the middle of the bar in the only dress that I own, craning my neck trying to find Peeta over the crowd of people on the dance floor. His honey-colored curls are nowhere around and when I glance over to the bar Rye raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders at me.

 

I'm just about to give up, climb back in Effie's car when I catch sight of him. He is near the bathrooms, Cato next to him, talking quickly and quietly, throwing his arms up as he speaks. Peeta looks stone-faced, his eyebrows set in a firm line over his eyes that are narrowed into slits.

 

I've never been more thankful that I have the gift of being sneaky. I slip through the crowd largely unnoticed by everyone. The closer I get the more my blood boils in my veins. The sight of Cato makes my stomach roll inside of me. When he puts his hand on Peeta's arm and leans into his ear to whisper something I see red.

 

Didn't Peeta say that seeing Cato would violate his parole?

 

Why would he risk it in such a public place?

 

Why do I care so much?

 

The only answer I can find is I am a fucking idiot. I am almost there, ready to fling my drink in Cato's face. I am about to push through the last of the crowd and into view when Rye come barreling up to the two of them, yanking Peeta back and throwing himself between them. I can just make out what he is saying over the din of a godawful country song playing on the jukebox.

 

“Get the fuck out of my bar, Cato,” Rye says coldly.

 

“Is that any way to treat family, Ryan?” Cato snaps back with a smile. I freeze in place, something about Cato sets me on edge, my teeth grit together. I grip the glass in my hand harder.

 

“You stopped being family when you left Peeta at that warehouse to take the fall for you.”

 

“Rye,” Peeta tries to interject but his brother shakes me off.

 

I hear something clink and only now see the baseball bat Rye holds loosely at his side. I slip back to the crowd, hoping Peeta hasn't seen me.

 

“Aw, Rye, come on,” Cato says, trying to throw his arm around Rye who shakes him off, pushing against Cato's chest with the aluminum bat. “We don't have to be like this.”

 

“Cato,” Peeta finally speaks up, his hands running through his curls. “You should go.”

 

“Think about what I said, Peet.”

 

“Already thought it over, I told you my answer.”

 

“You need this,” Cato is angry now. I can see it in his eyes, he's a man that is used to getting his way. He doesn't hear the word 'No' very often. I slink my way through the crowd, trying to listen over the music, the clinking of glasses, the unaware laughter. “You need the money, Peeta,”

 

“It isn't worth it,” Peeta says, its so quiet I can't really hear it. I can read his lips though. I feel something cold settling in my chest as Peeta runs his hands through his hair. “I can get another job.”

 

“What, she tell you that?” Cato says mockingly. I can't see his face but he towers over Peeta, his spine stiff. I want to move but I can't.

 

Another job? I feel anger rising in my throat. Peeta isn't at the bakery anymore? Didn't he think that was important to tell me?

 

“She doesn't have to.” Peeta says.

 

“You will always be this, Peeta.” Cato is spitting the words in Peeta's face. “What happens when she finds out that you are exactly like everyone says you are.”

 

“Get out of my bar.” Rye shoves Cato back.

 

Peeta looks so broken for an instant I step forward, intent on doing something, I'm not sure what.

 

“Your own mother doesn't want you, what makes you think she will?” Cato mocks as he is shoved out of the back door by Rye, whose got him by the collar of the shirt. It doesn't seem to matter because Peeta has caught sight of me. His eyes lock on mine for a long moment and in that second it seems time stops. I can't hear the crowd or the music and I don't feel the people bumping into me or my drink sloshing in my hand.

 

All I see are those wide eyes looking remorseful and somewhat broken.

 

Then the moment is over and I am bolting for the door.

 

“Katniss wait!” Peeta shouts.

 

He catches up to me in the parking lot, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around. I am silent and still as a stone trying to work through my emotions. I feel betrayed, the world spins with it. I know I have no right to it, no right to preach at him.

 

“You lost your job?” I shout, right in his face. He looks taken back, shrinking just slightly at my visceral tone. “Why didn't you tell me?” I snarl.

 

“With everything that happened, with you, you know, I just thought I would wait for the right time.” His voice is calm, patient. It pisses me off. He's been keeping secrets from me, and now he's blaming me. Poor unstable Katniss can't handle hearing bad news. She might freak out or fall apart.

 

“I thought you said it would violate your parole seeing Cato?” I accuse, looking at my feet.

 

“It does.” He says.

 

“Then why was he here?” My voice comes out quiet. I look up at him, his flannel billows gently in the wind. He is looking at me like I am a puzzle to be worked out. Maybe I am, I don't know why he affects me like he does.

 

“I didn't plan to meet him here if that is what you are getting at.” Peeta huffs.

 

“Are you going through with it?” I snarl, my words rip through him and I watch a range of emotions cross his face before he settles on anger.

 

“You judging me, Everdeen?” His voice is strangely calm and doesn't match his eyes. I feel a cold chill that has nothing to do with the night air.

 

“I just want to know if I'll be visiting you in prison or not.” I try to match the coldness in his voice but I feel I fall flat. He scoffs, something between a frustrated huff and a cold laugh. It serves to make me angrier. “What?” I sneer. “That's where you'll end up. No deals, you'll be tried as an adult. For what? Family? Who gives a fuck Peeta, he's a dirtbag, don't take the fall for him.”

 

“Why do you care?” His voice isn't angry anymore, it's soft and scared.

 

“Because you are better than this," I moan, "than him!” It comes out as a feral howl and a few people on the porch turn to stare at us. Peeta looks like I've slapped him, he looks like he's seen a ghost. Pale skin made paler by the moonlight. It might be the first honest thing I have ever told him. And then I feel my heart shatter because for all Peeta is, all of his kindness, his sincerity and generosity, this should be a given.

 

But I don't think anyone has ever told him this.

 

He looks down at the ground, the sand that inches its way everywhere, then back up at me. Those clear blue eyes almost black with something broken and hollow.

 

I have no choice but to kiss him, at least that is what I tell myself. When our lips touch it feels like the world is falling down around us. I could care less, let the world end, right here. Its soft and sweet and he cups my jaw in his hands like he is afraid I'll crack like glass.

 

Then he parts my lips with his tongue and I am grasping at anything I can, his shirt, the back of his neck, the tangle of his curls. I can hear music distantly and the pounding of waves against the shore but it doesn't really register because I all I care about is the soft down of hair beneath my hands and the scent of clove cigarettes and stale beer on Peeta's breath.

 

When we part I feel my chin quiver and I turn away. I don't like the idea of Peeta being unreachable to me, behind bars. I can't imagine him having to live that way. Peeta, the artist, the boy that saves me, even when I can't save myself. He would come out of it so different and I don't want him to be different, I don't want them to take him from me.

 

I've finally hit the ground.

 

I love him.

 

And it will be the death of me.

 

 

He doesn't say anything for a long time, just looks at me as I press my hands to my lips and stumble back toward the beach.

 

“Katniss, please don't run.” He begs and it is so tender that my feet root in place and I stand stock still. He creeps up to me and pushes my hair away from my eyes. He smiles like I am the most endearing thing he's ever seen.

 

“You are a strange girl,” He whispers like I don't know that already. His lips are close to mine now, so I feel his breath on me when he whispers it. “beautiful.”

 

“Don't lie to me,” I beg because my heart can't take it.

 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” He says it and for a moment I believe him. I believe that I am something reverent, otherworldly.

 

His lips press into mine and all those threads that hold together all of those broken pieces of me, all of my delicately sewn seams bust open and I spill out. I feel the tears leaking from my eyes, hot and suffocating but I don't care, I don't care if he tastes them, touches them, because I am so damned tired of holding it inside.

 

It smells like storms out here, hell, it could be raging against me and I wouldn't notice.

 

But it's coming, I can feel it at my very core.

 

XX.XX

 

 

The rain comes and I watch it wind its way down the thick panes of glass on his sliding door. Watching it come down makes me woozy and tired but my eyes were already stinging and red with dried tears when I walked in, so it seems fitting really. I can feel Peeta watching me, waiting for me to say something or do something crazy like kiss him again. I don't though, and I don't turn around either, I just stand there and watch the rain wash away the dirt and salt on his window and wish I was standing in the downpour and it was washing all of this pain away from me, making me someone entirely different. Someone new and whole and deserving of Peeta's affection.

 

He doesn't know, does he? The vile thing I am inside. The burnt out shell of a human being I have become. He sees the after-effects, he isn't a complete idiot, but he doesn't know how deep the wounds run. How irrevocably broken I am.

 

If he did would it scare him away?

 

If he could see me stripped bare of the chains and the rings and see the mottled mess of nothing I really am, would he run?

 

“Say something,” He says and his voice is quiet and pleading.

 

“What is there to say?” I ask the rain because I am not brave enough to face him. I am a coward and can't look him in the eyes when I say it.

 

“Say anything.” He is gentle, Peeta. So gentle and its startling for someone so broad and strong. It might be his greatest weakness. “You're so quiet, and-” Finally I turn to stare at him. He's looking at his palms, the deep lines in them. One is the love line, one is the lifeline. I wonder what I would find there if I was a palm reader, what fortune would befall him, what tragedy? One thing is for certain, I know it in my heart. I will be his downfall. But I don't believe in such things.

 

“And what?” I say, sounding resigned.

 

“It's exhausting you,” His eyes meet mine, his eyes are dark and his pupils are fat. “You can't carry it around forever.”

 

Oh but I will, Peeta. It will be with me, always. I will always see that deep pool of blood behind my eyelids when I shut them. I'll always hear Prim's strangled sobs as the life drained from her eyes. I'll always see those first few snowflakes falling fat and lazy only to melt on her skin and mix with the hot tears freezing to her still warm face.

 

“Please,” He begs again and I turn on him.

 

“What if you don't want to hear it?” I ask, “What if you can't handle hearing it?” What if he hates me after. Tells me he was wrong, it was my fault.

 

I don't think I could handle it.

 

I'd turn to smoke and fade away right here.

 

“Trust me Katniss.” He says, but its too late. I am already gone.

 

XX.XX

 

_“Come on, Prim!” We're late, so late and I am slinging the strap of my bag onto my shoulder._

 

_“Hold on!” She shouts from somewhere upstairs. I huff and pull on my threadbare mittens that won't last till next winter. I'll have to ask Hazelle to knit me another pair. I see the Hawthorne kids waiting for us on the sidewalk out front, Rory is swinging Posy on the tire swing and her giggles pierce the silence of the street._

 

_“Prim, we're going to leave without you!” I shout as she appears like an apparition on the stairs. She's dressed in jeans and her winter coat. Her hair is in two braids that poke out from her knitted hat. Her ballet slippers are tied to her backpack._

 

_“I'm coming, God.” She huffs and I plant a kiss on her forehead as she passes me. She squirms away from me but smiles crookedly._

 

_“Took you long enough,” Vick grumbles, earning a hard look from Rory, but Posy is oblivious to her brother's annoyance and launches herself into Prim's arms._

 

_“You've grown two inches since yesterday, Posy, I swear!”_

 

_“Don't I know it,” Gale grumbles but he pokes Posy in the stomach and she giggles like mad._

 

_“Do we have time to stop at the bakery?” Prim asks._

 

_“Actually, I have an errand to run.” Gale says, “But you guys will walk together and I'll meet you at the Hambry.” He says._

 

_I look at him suspiciously. What on earth does he have to do at seven in the morning? He winks at me as I glare._

 

_Vick and Posy are taking the bus to the elementary school so they head out in a different direction. Gale walks them, scolding Vick for not wearing his hat._

 

_Prim takes my hand as we walk and I look up at the clouds, they look purple and pregnant, the storm is on its way. School might be canceled tomorrow, which is good, I need to go job hunting, soon._

 

_Rory and Prim are talking, heads ducked together as he helps her with an equation in her math book. I find myself trailing back and watching. Rory looks at her with eyes silver, softer than his big brothers. She laughs and his eyes go wide._

 

_It is so innocent and sweet I smile secretly._

 

_We cross the intersection where the Hambry hangs over the street like a skeleton. Just two streets over is the town proper and people with neatly manicured lawns and beemers drive to their jobs in skyscrapers not knowing they live so close to kids starving with bare feet and dirty chins._

 

_I try not to be bitter about it but its hard. It's not their fault I was born poor, but it's not mine either._

 

_Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I was born just two streets over. Who would I be? Not having to worry about having enough to eat every second of every day. It's useless though, I wasn't born two streets over and if it meant I didn't have Prim then I don't want that life because a life without her is nothing._

 

_I don't know who'd I'd be without her._

 

_We stop to wait for Gale and I wish I had my guitar for a moment, I could get a few bucks to give Prim for lunch but I didn't bring my guitar so its Free lunch for her today. I tell myself its okay, better than nothing and she never complains about it._

 

_“Katniss!” It's Gale._

 

_“Katniss!”_

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

“Katniss!” Peeta snaps me out of it. I startle out of my memories and back into the reality where my sister is dead and I am completely alone. My heart slows to a flatline as I turn to look at him.

 

“My sister,” I start but my voice trails off, I'm not sure where I was going with it.

 

Peeta catches me, I hadn't realized I had started to list over until his hands gently guide me to the floor where I collapse in a heap. He follows me down and sits cross-legged across from me.

 

“Tell me something about her,” He encourages and I eye him warily.

 

I can't.

 

She's mine, no one else can have these little memories, they are all I have.

 

“ _Tell him_ ,” She urges in my ear. “ _Tell him the truth_.” I jolt back but there is no one there, as usual. It is only my little ghost.

 

“Tell me something,” He says, cupping my head in his hands and for a moment I lean into it. I let my eyes slide shut and a range of different memories wash over me. I think about that last day. She woke early to practice. She let me sleep because I worked so late. She tucked her head into my neck like she did when she was a toddler. She loved me. She was the only person in the world I was certain I loved.

 

“The newspapers said that she was a victim,” I am horrified that my voice cracks. I sound hollowed out, an echo in a canyon. Something far away, as ancient as time. He is quiet and patient. I'm sure that isn't what he expected. “A victim of poverty, of hunger, of violence.” I feel the tears pooling in my eyes and I have to blink them away. I feel my chin trembling and my lips curling back and I can't do anything to stop it. It washes out of me like waves and crashes against Peeta.

 

“She wasn't a victim!” I shout, anger swelling in me. “She wasn't!” I demand until Peeta finally nods.

 

“She was just a little girl, that loved to dance.”

 

 

_XX.XX_

 

 

 

 

“ _I know a girl who's tough but sweet_ .” Finnick croons at me as I walk from table to table, filling waters. “ _She's so fine, she can't be beat_ .” I roll my eyes and toss a handful of paper clad straws at him which only seems to egg him on. “ _I want Kat-niss_.”

 

“Finnick,” I growl. “Don't you have work to do?” I stop to fill a cup for a little boy at a booth. He's cute, blonde and gap-toothed and smiles at me as I pass by.

 

“More important than bugging you?” He asks as I quicken my steps and he has to run to catch up.

 

“Yeah,” I huff.

 

“Nope,” He pops his lips and laughs at me as I scowl at him.

 

“I will give you half my tips to go away.” I snarl, not in the mood but secretly happy that the old Finnick is making an appearance, he's been walking on eggshells around me for the last week. Since I overdosed. I'd never tell him this, of course, I'd never hear the end of it.

 

“We're having a get together at Annie's after work,” His voice is pleading.

 

“Finnick, not another party,” I moan, slamming my pitcher of water down on the counter so hard it sloshes on the formica.

 

“Not a party,” He says quickly. “A get-together, different vibe altogether., trust me you haven't lived until you've seen vicious Johanna Mason lose monopoly to Annie”

 

“Annie? Really?” I ask, my nose wrinkling.

 

“She's a shark in the water Kitty Kat.” He winks and smiles. I swear a girl perched at the counter swoons. He has a look of determination on his face. I can tell I am not getting out of this one.

 

“Fine,” I growl. “But I'm not dressing up.”

 

“Cold-hearted siren,” He says with a smile. “At least bring dessert.”

 

That is how I end up standing at Annie's door with a bowl of Ambrosia I bought at the Store down the street. I clutch it tightly as I ring her doorbell. The door swings open immediately. Johanna Mason stands there with her hands on her hips.

 

“Well, Well.” She says with a smirk. “Look what the cat dragged in, Finn.”

 

“Kitty!” He calls out from Annie's tiny kitchenette. I'd never admit it but I love Annie's apartment. It has a whimsy about it that reminds me of Alice in Wonderland or Snow White. It is a tiny studio, but her bed has a patchwork quilt and a stuffed rabbit resting on the mismatched pillows. She has tiny trinkets strewn atop thrift store tables and a cream couch with floral pillows.

 

It's downright charming.

 

Everyone is looking at me and I feel a flush rise to my cheeks. Annie ushers me in and takes the bowl from me.

 

“Is this ambrosia?” She asks and I nod uncertainly.

 

“Uh, yeah,” I wonder if it's too late to back out of the apartment and throw it into the garbage bin. “I was at the store and panicked, sorry.”

 

“I love ambrosia,” Delly chimes. “My grandma was from the south and swore a good ambrosia could cure anything, she used to make it.” She turns to where Peeta is standing in the living room, strangling a beer. “Remember Peet?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Peeta blushes and looks at his feet.

 

Johanna pokes the cellophane and Annie jerks it away from her. Johanna smirks like this was her plan all along. “Does ambrosia count as a salad?” Johanna asks.

 

“If you’re in the south it does,” Delly says with a cheeky smile.

 

Finnick snatches the bowl from Annie and peels back the plastic to dip his finger in it. He licks it off overdramatically. Annie crinkles her nose at him.

 

“Gross, get a spoon.” She scolds.

 

“I had an Aunt named after ambrosia.” He says seriously, throwing a wink my direction. “True story.”

 

“No, it isn't,” Peeta says. “Your Aunt's name is Brenda.”

 

Johanna cracks up as Finnick exclaims it could be true.

 

“Well, don't just stand there Kitty Kat, come on in.”

 

And just like that, I realize that my sister is dead. My mother is far away, lost in a haze she may never escape from.

 

But I am not completely alone.

 

These people for some reason have let me in.

 

Maybe its time I did the same.

 

Peeta comes over and places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the couch. We haven't spoken much since my breakdown at his trailer. He hasn't asked me to share any more about my dead sister, or the pain that cuts through me every second of every day. I'm grateful he doesn't push me. And I am feeling light-headed and giddy and because everyone else is busy and no one is paying any attention to us I press a quick kiss into the corner of his lips.

 

He grins like a dope.

 

I look over and Finnick is watching us with an equally stupid smile on his face. I flip him off but he only smiles wider.

 

XX.XX

 

“Cinna?” The door is propped open but no one is inside. The room is abandoned, the lights are off, so I switch them on and what I see makes me suck in a breath.

 

It is a Howitzer, from the forties, just sitting on my chair. I look around and when I am certain no one is around I creep into the room. It is beautiful, a deep red cherry wood. My fingers jut out before I can stop them and they run over the strings.

 

I itch to touch it, to feel its heavy weight on my arms but I hold steady. I kneel down to get a better look, I pluck at a string with my finger.

 

“She is beautiful, ja?” Cinna says.

 

I whirl around, my face reddening. I cringe at being caught.

 

“Uh, yeah, ja,” I say stupidly.

 

“Juliette is her name.” He says, peering at me over his glasses. “She has been with me many years.” His voice cracks, he looks tired.

 

“Why are you telling me this.”

 

“People suffer when they play, you can hear it.” His hands are shaking. “People suffer when they cannot play.”

 

“People just suffer,” Something hard has crept into my voice.

 

“That is the sadness talking,” He shakes his head at me. “It is the saddest thing, when people chose to suffer, over being free.”

 

“Freedom is a myth.” I snarl at him.

 

He nods at me, looking at the ground. “For some, but you my child, you are making yourself suffer.”

 

I don't say anything to him, just seethe in his direction.

 

“Find the note, “ He says, snapping his cane against the tile floor. I jump at the sound. “Do whatever it takes to be free.”

 

With that, he turns and leaves me alone in the room with only Juliette for company.

 

XX.XX

 

I’m wrapped in the plushest towel I could find. My damp hair hangs down my back and leaves droplets of water in my wake. I pad down the hallway as quietly as I can, hoping to go through the evening unnoticed. Only a few precious feet from the bathroom to my room.

 

Effie has a small portable radio sitting in the hallway on a table. It’s playing something soft. The door to her bedroom is swung open, bathing me in light.

 

I make the mistake of stopping.

 

Something hot is gathering inside of me with every verse until I-

 

_You are not alone_

_Laying in the light_

_Put out the fire in your head_

_And lay with me tonight_

_You are not alone_

_Laying in the light_

_Put out the fire in your head_

_And lay with me tonight_

 

I slide down the wall slowly, clutching the towel to my chest. My bare legs skidding against Effie’s fine wood.

 

Something funny happens.

 

I start to hum along.

 

Quiet at first, but then more insistent.

 

My brain goes numb as I sing nonsensically along with the woman on the radio. My mouth doesn’t know any of the words, but the melody sure is sweet.

 

I’ve missed sweet.

 

“Katniss?”

 

My head shoots up and I am looking at Effie, lording over me. She looks afraid.

 

“I’m sorry Effie,” I say, my voice sounds empty.

 

“Whatever for, my dear?”

 

I can’t answer her. My face is contorting of its own will. I curl up my legs to hide from her. She pushes them away and is gathering me up against her chest. I have no choice but to fall against her over-perfumed chest and sob.

 

“I want her back.” I sob.

 

She doesn’t say anything, just pets my wet hair as I cry.

 

And for once, I let her.

 

XX.XX

 

I lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. The swaying trees outside of my window create shadows that dance there and I can't stop watching them. It long ago went dark outside but I can't seem to muster the energy to lift myself up to turn on the lights, so I lie here, in the dark, feeling miserable.

 

I pick up my phone to check the time and see a missed text from Peeta.

 

 _What are you up to?_ He asked almost two hours ago.

 

 _Can't sleep._ I respond back and toss my phone down on the bed next to me.

 

Sometime later there is a knock at my window, startling me. I jolt out of bed with my heart racing. Peeta waves at me from outside. I push the window up and watch him as he clumsily climbs inside.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask.

 

“You said you couldn't sleep,” he says. “So I came over.”

 

“There is a front door, you know,” I say, I can't seem to stop the smile creeping up on my face.

 

“Where's the drama in that?”

 

“You could have picked the lock,” I point out.

 

“That would have been incredibly rude of me,” He says. “Also, I think breaking and entering would violate my parole.” He laughs but it doesn't reach his eyes.

 

“Why are you here?” I ask.

 

“I couldn't sleep either. I thought you could use some company,”

 

“Well, come in then,” I say, mostly because I can't think of anything else to say.

 

“I know why you can't sleep, Everdeen.” He says. “Look at the way you are dressed!”

 

“What's wrong with what I am wearing?' I look down at my flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. Normal Katniss attire.

 

“You need PJ's,” He says, laughing when I roll my eyes. “And hot chocolate,” He says.

 

“Ain't got that up here.”

 

“Good thing I'm here.” He says and slips out of my room before I can protest, he's sure to wake the whole house up with the tread on him.

 

I shed my clothes while he's gone and slip into my boxers and a loose fitting t-shirt and sit, cross-legged on my bed to wait.

 

He comes back a few minutes later with a steaming mug. “Swiss miss was the best I could do under the circumstances.” He says softly, handing it to me with a warning to be careful.

 

I set it on my nightstand as he looks down at me for a moment with a soft expression, filled with something I can't name. I feel myself bristle under his scrutiny.

 

“What?” I snap at him.

 

“You're just-” He stops himself, shaking his head. “You're just you.” He smiles bashfully.

 

“Technically,” I say.

 

“I really like you.” He says.

 

Something black hits me straight in the stomach.

 

I want to tell him everything. I don't, instead, I pat the bed next to me and he sits carefully like he is afraid to get too close.

 

I reach for the mug and take small sips of the hot chocolate. It's rich and smooth and warm and by the time I finish it my eyelids are heavy. I lay back and let them slide shut.

 

“Come here,” I say groggily because I am too tired to care about stupid things and Peeta drove all the way here to make me hot chocolate and I love him and the idea of that terrifies me. But that is a mess for the morning because I am tired and Peeta is warm and safe. Just for tonight, I will be weak.

 

I make a pillow out of his shoulder and his arm wraps around me protectively.

 

“I'm tired,” I complain.

 

“ Sleep, sweetheart,” Peeta says and it isn't mocking like Haymitch, it sounds sweet on his honey tongue.

 

“Will you stay?” I ask, already halfway to sleep. His vanilla scent lulling me down into the blackness.

 

This time I just catch it on his tongue, right before my fall into the oblivion.

 

“ _Always_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits
> 
> Not Alone - Patty Griffin


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't.  
> He can't stay with me.

“ _ Katniss!” The desperation in Gale's voice stops me cold. I spin around to see him running towards the group of us, out of breath, smiling like an idiot. I rub my hands together and wave him closer. His breath is silver, coming in quick gasps. He stops right in front of me, doubled over, trying to catch his breath. _

 

_ “Come on, we gotta go.” He says, reaching for my hand. _

 

_ “Why?” _

 

_ “I got you a job,” A slow smile creeps up on his face. _

 

_ “Excuse me?” I must not have heard him correctly. “You did what?” _

 

_ He ignores the edge that has crept into my voice. “At Sae's, come on, she isn't going to hold the job.” _

 

_ “I can't just leave Prim,” I say. She is standing a few feet away, watch us with curious eyes. I turn back to Gale. _

 

_ “She's twelve Katniss, she'll be fine.” _

 

_ “Katniss, she needs to meet with you, it will only take a few moments.” Sae's is the most popular diner on this side of town. If I got a job there it would mean tips and a decent wage. Its honest work at a reasonable time. This could mean the world for us. “Catnip, we have to hurry.” His hand envelopes mine and he pulls, dragging me a few feet before I shake him off and turn to Prim. _

 

_ “Hold on, Gale.” I snarl as Prim comes over, her nose pink with cold. _

 

_ “Hey duck, I got a meeting' for a new job.” I try to sound excited. “I gotta go.” _

 

_ “You're not going to walk me?” She sounds uncertain. Gale is tugging on my arm insistently and I shake him off. _

 

_ “You walk with Rory, go straight to school and I'll be there before the second bell, okay?” _

 

_ She looks like it isn't okay, she looks at the street and then back at me, a smile stuck to her face that looks like it doesn't belong there. _

 

_ “Hey, you'll be okay.” I promise, pressing a kiss into her forehead. “I promise.” _

 

_ Gale pulls on my hand and this time I let him. I turn as he starts to run. _

 

_ “Katniss, wait!” I turn to look at Prim. I disconnect with Gale as she skips up to me with her dancers grace. _

 

_ She pulls off her hat, her hair has little fly aways now but she doesn't seem to care. She comes over and pulls the hat down over my ears. “Its cold out.” She explains. _

 

_ “Hey thanks, little duck.” _

 

_ “Quack,” she says softly and I tug on one of her braids as she laughs. Its light and airy and real. _

 

_ Then I turn and am running, Gale's grabs for me and his hand warm in mine and I laugh because I am excited. A real job means real food on the table and new boots for Prim and maybe my mother can see a real doctor. _

 

 

_ People have to jump out of our way but I don't care because I am feeling so full of hope I am bursting with it. _

 

_ I turn my face up to the sky, completely trusting Gale to lead the way. I have no way of knowing it is too late. _

 

_ My laughter is an affront to God. _

 

_ I'll pay for it in the worst way possible. _

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

I wake to the soft patter of rain on the roof the sound encasing me completely. Peeta is still sleeping next to me, I feel his breath on my fanning my cheek, his arm slung protectively around my middle. I can't untangle myself from him without waking him so I lay there and study him, the spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, his eyelashes golden in the half dark of morning.

 

My whole life has been filled with reactions, nothing more. Get a job or starve, stand or fall, live or die. Right now, I don't react I just watch Peeta. Does everyone look younger when they sleep? Peeta looks like a child, his worry lines have melted away and leaves him youthful and pretty.

 

How many times have I passed out in bed with some boy whose name I couldn't recall only to wake up filled with regret? How many times have I tossed those boys out of my front door without their clothes?

 

Who knew sleeping with a guy could be deeper than actually sleeping with them?

 

His eyes flutter open and I'm caught, I feel the heat rising in my cheeks and I shift my glance away.

 

“Hey,” His voice is soft and hoarse. “Good morning.” He adds, brushing her hair out of my face.

 

“Morning,” I say, feeling like I'm wearing a different skin. Like I am itching to crawl out of it. I shift a little and his arm retracts back and I miss his warmth immediately. I'd never tell him this of course, but a funny noise comes from the back of my throat and makes him laugh as if he knew all along.

 

As if he’s always known the effect he has on me.

 

“Did you sleep alright?” He asks and I nod because I don't trust my voice.

 

“Me too,” He says, studying me carefully, watching me like he's waiting for me to bolt out the door and down the stairs. I deserve that look I guess but I am rooted to the bed. He leans forward very carefully and places a delicate kiss to the tip of my nose.

 

My entire being hums with his proximity. I can feel the heat of him, taste him on my tongue, inhale his sweet scent. I decide it isn't so bad waking up next to Peeta Mellark.

 

Then I shut down completely because I realize I want to wake up next to him, again and again and again. I almost forgot that I am not allowed to, I'm not allowed to be happy. My sister isn't happy, she isn't anything.

 

Prim was.

 

Prim isn't.

 

He senses my shift, I don't know how or why but he does all the same. He looks sad, it pools in his eyes. I look away, feeling open and exposed.

 

A loud knock jolts us up. Peeta shoots out of my bed.

 

“Katniss?” My uncles voice drifts in, sounding a little worse for wear.

 

“Haymitch,” I answer curtly.

 

“Is that the Mellark boys truck outside?” He asks, his voice is a little too serene. I roll my eyes and Peeta stifles a smile.

 

“Yeah,” I say.

 

“Is he in there?”

 

Peeta and I share a long look. “Good morning Mr Abernathy, I hope you slept well.” Peeta says. He receives a long silence as an answer. I bury my face in my hands.

 

“Come downstairs.” Haymitch demands, then his heavy footfalls echo in the hall.

 

“Sorry, Katniss.” Peeta says.

 

“It's fine,” I say, because it is. My uncle has no say in my life, he never has, let him play the overprotective uncle all he likes, he still is an old drunk. Not much will ever change that.

 

Peeta closes the door softly behind him, the click reverberates in the silence of my room. My knees rise to my chest as I stare at the door, a barrier between me and the rest of the world. It's me against them, it always has been.

 

When I come down the stairs Effie is watching me from behind a mug of coffee, her eyes narrowed.

 

“Good morning,” I try to sound cheerful but I don't and she doesn't respond, just leaves the room.

 

“Good morning, Katniss,” I mumble sourly, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table and wiping it on my jacket. I'm halfway through my apple when Peeta comes in. He looks like he's seen a ghost, pale white with wide eyes and when they meet mine I just know, he knows. He finally sees me for what I really am.

 

A monster.

 

“No,” I say at it shatters the silence in the room.

 

“Katniss,” His hand reaches for me but I duck away from him. I feel fury, panic but most of all I feel sorrow. It washes over me in waves.

 

 

 

 

 

Haymitch clicks the door shut behind him and eyes the air between Peeta and I. I feel my chin jut upward, daring anyone to say anything.

 

The three of us stand in silence for what feels like an eternity. Peeta looking at me, Haymitch and I staring at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

 

“How dare you?” I finally spit, breaking the silence.

 

“Boy deserved to know.” He says simply. Anger fills every crevice and hollow place of me. I see red hot rage behind my eyelids.

 

I lunge for him and Peeta grabs me around the middle hefting me back across the room. A chair falls over and clatters loudly to the floor. I scream every foul name I can think of. I'm still screaming when Peeta pulls me outside.

 

He drops me on the porch and shuts the door behind us. I stare at him, nostrils flaring and my teeth sink into my bottom lip until I taste blood. I pace the length of the porch just to give my feet something to do.

 

“How?” I start but my voice trails off. I yank on the end of my braid and my scalp screams. Peeta tries to gently pry my hand away but like the rabid dog I am I snarl at him not to touch me and he inches his hand back.

 

“Listen Katniss,” and all the hidden hatred I hold in my molded heart comes out and I glare at him with venom. On another day it might make Peeta smile, his midnight blue eyes crinkle in amusement, not today.

 

“What did he tell you?” I snarl.

 

“Just what he felt he had to.”

 

I feel all the fury leave me in a rush, I feel hollowed out and tired.

 

“And what was that?” I ask.

 

“Katniss,” He holds out his hands in a placating way. It sends a wave of irritation up my spine.

 

“Don't touch me.” I demand.

 

He doesn't, he makes a show of putting his hands in his pockets.

 

“Prim,” He starts, there it is, the anger inside of me flares and consumes me. “It wasn't your fault.”

 

“How do you know?” I growl, “You weren't there, you didn't see it.”

 

“Katniss,” His voice is still gentle and patient. I wish he would be angry with me, yell right back at me. I need it, I need it like air. I just want someone to hate me. Tell me the truth, I am sick to death of people telling me it will be okay, that it wasn't my fault.

 

“I don't need you, I never did.”

 

“I know,” He says and it’s sad, I want to curl myself into him, tell him it’s a lie. I do need him, that's the problem. He weaseled his way inside and made me think I was different, that I could be different.

 

But Peeta is a skilled liar.

 

“I don't need you to save me.” I say flatly.

 

“I know.” He responds, his eyes have fallen to the ground.

 

I surge forward and shove him back. Peeta is solid and strong but I've caught him off guard and he stumbles backward landing on his ass on the cement walkway below us. I lord over him and watch as he stands and brushes himself off and turns back to me, a look of sheer determination on his face. I lunge forward again and pound my fists against him.

 

He just stands there in the rain like an idiot.

 

“I don't need you!” I shout in his face. “I don't want you!” I push against him and still he holds strong, never taking his eyes off of my face.

 

I've started to cry, I don't know when the tears started but I am blinking them away furiously. I've stumbled out into the rain and my hair sticks to my cheek. Peeta's hands are bleeding, scraped from falling off the porch.

 

“Katniss, stop.” He says finally and catches my wrist just as I come up to hit him. His voice is commanding but gentle, if that is even possible. He curves my hand into his and rests it on his chest. I can feel his heartbeat steady against my palm.

 

I feel in the furious pounding.

 

I see it in his eyes.

 

He knows what I am.

 

A meteor streaking across the night sky.

 

Is it all that's left? The rage? What other choice do I have than be angry? Because when the anger dries up all that will be left is my grief and there is no controlling that. No, let me be angry. Let my hatred consume me and burn me up. When its over there will be nothing left.

 

“He is killing you,” He says it suddenly and I go limp. “He killed your sister and now he's killing you.”

 

“Get away from me,” My voice is low and cold. For a long moment Peeta just looks into my eyes like he is looking for something to hold onto, something to drag me out of the depths. It isn't there, peel my skin back and all you will find is more hate.

 

“If that's what you want.” A drop of water drips from his soaked curls down the bridge of his nose and stays there. I have to control the urge to wipe it away with my sleeve. I feel my chin quiver and my lips tremble.

 

“It is,” I say in a voice, weak and shaky. “I want you gone.”

 

“Fine,” He says and turns on his heel and walks away.

 

It really was that simple.

 

I stand there for a long time and stare at the space Peeta just occupied. I regret it instantly, the hurt that flashed on his face was palatable. He was so quick to believe me. Finally I have no choice but to turn and trudge up the stairs. I fall on my ass on the porch steps and bury my face in my hands, I can't stop the tears from coming hot and fast.

 

I hear the door open and I freeze.

 

“Listen,” Haymitch says from somewhere behind me. “Girl-”

 

I turn, all of my hatred boring into him. He takes a step back for a moment, like he's scared of all hundred pounds of me. I feel my lips curl back, like I am baring my teeth for a fight. Just like the wild animal I am.

 

“I will never forgive you for this.”

 

He can't say anything back to me because he knows its true.

 

XX.XX

 

 

_ “She is too skinny.” Sae grumbles. She has a tray of plates and is stacking up glasses and placing them on the tray, they teeter but don't fall. I'm not sure how she does it. _

 

_ “She's a good worker,” Gale says, his voice hard set and determined. I sigh, sick of them talking about me like I am not here. _

 

_ “She'll eat all the food in my kitchen.” _

 

_ “I'll work nights and weekends, holidays, whatever.” I pipe up and Sae's gray eyes land on me. She has lines around her eyes and mouth that suggest she's smoked too many cigarettes, laughed a lot, seen too much. She studies me and I straighten my spine and look right in her eyes. “I can do it.” I insist. _

 

_ Finally she lets out a sigh and I know I've won. I look at Gale as he gives me a small, half smile . I have to suppress a smile of my own. His hand snares my own and squeezes, I squeeze back because I am excited and breathless and I don't care that he might take it the wrong way. I'll deal with that later. _

 

_ “No drugs in my kitchen, you start today at six, I will get you a uniform.” I do something I have done maybe never in my whole life. I giggle. _

 

_ When Gale pulls me outside the wind freezes against my face. He drags me into the alley next to the restaurant and grasps my face with both of his hands. _

 

_ “I told you it'll be okay,” He whispers against my lips. I'm smiling as his fingers thread through my braid and yanks me closer to him. _

 

_ I let him kiss me. _

 

_ He tastes like oranges. _

 

_ His lips part mine and his head tilts and he's pressing me into the bricks of the building behind me. He has me trapped, I can't move, I can't breathe, but I don't care because I have a job and Prim will get her new winter boots and I'll be able to buy us groceries, Prim will be so excited. _

 

_ I don't really feel Gale pressing against me, all I feel is hope, so much of it I am dizzy. _

 

_ In the distance I hear something crack and it stops my blood cold so suddenly I suck in a breath. _

 

_ “Gale what was that?” I ask, pushing him away from me. _

 

_ I want him to say it was a truck backfiring or firecrackers but Gale isn't stupid. He doesn't say anything. He drops my hand and takes a step forward. _

 

_ Something in me knows. I don't know how or why but I know. _

 

_ Two more cracks break the silence, then sirens. _

 

_ They are distant, a few streets over but I swear, they are the loudest thing I have ever heard. My stomach bottoms out and feel bile rising up in my throat. _

 

_ “Prim.” I whisper, my breath is a cloud that wisps away. Gale's eyes meet mine for a moment that stretches on. _

 

_ Then I am running. _

 

_ There is no use though. _

 

_ The damage has already been done. _

 

XX.XX

 

 

The nightmares get worse. I dream of blood sticky and hot, unfurling from under my sister as she screams my name in terror but I always wake before I can reach her with my voice hoarse from screaming and my sheets soaked in sweat.

 

Its always then that I pick myself up and carry myself to the closet, I hide until the morning light streams in and when I go downstairs we all pretend I didn't scream. I don't speak to Haymitch directly except when I absolutely have to and when I do I make sure I glare at him so he remembers, he betrayed me in the worst way.

 

I go to school, I do my homework, I eat lunch on the stairs but Peeta has found a new corner to eat and I am happy about that. I don't have to see the pity in his eyes like I do when my eyes catch his in the hallway. He doesn't speak to me and it is better this way, like ripping a band aid off, quick and clean, but so painful.

 

I notice things about him I don't want to, like how the purple bruises under his eyes rival mine. His clothes seem to hang off of him in a way they didn't before. He is always slouched down like he is preparing to be kicked.

 

I want to reach out and grab his arm when he passes by me, I want to run my thumb across those bags beneath his eyes and ask him why he can't sleep. My pride gets in the way and I give nothing away.

 

That is why I can't help following Delly a week later when she asks to talk to me. I am so desperate to know that my feet move of their own accord.

 

“He's a total wreck,” She says as I press myself against the cool tiles on the wall, trying to be small. “I don't know what happened Katniss, I just, I didn't know who else to talk to about it.”

 

“Finnick or Johanna,” I grumble. “Anyone else.”

 

“Like he'll listen to them.” She runs her hands through her curls, her blue eyes locked on me.

 

“What makes you think he'll listen to me?” I snarl. Her lips curl up into a small, sad smile.

 

“Because he loves you.” She says and it hits me square in the chest. I let out a sigh and she looks like she's won a prize.

 

“What is it then?”

 

“Cato.” She says softly.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

That is how I end up on his porch, staring at the scrap metal ballerina. Her eyes are locked on the distance, her head thrown back. I resist the urge to knock her right down the stairs. Instead I focus all that rage into slamming my fist on his sliding door until he pops into view, his face paling at the sight of me. I shrug my shoulders at him and knock again, insistently.

 

A range of emotions crosses his face before he settles on anger. He stomps over and pulls open the door.

 

“What are you doing here?” He asks curtly, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

 

“Can I come in?” I ask, rain is dripping off of me and he looks out in the night for a moment like he's expecting an army to be following me. Finally he nods and moves so I can come in. I don't go very far, just passed him before I turn.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Right to it then, no need for pleasantries.

 

“Delly talked to me,” I say.

 

“Delly needs to mind her own business.” Peeta says coldly. It doesn't suit him at all. When I think of Peeta I think of warmth, candlelight, light laughter and rain.

 

“ Don't do this.” I plead, suddenly scared.

 

“You don't get to ask that of me, Katniss.”

 

“Peeta-”

 

“I've tried so hard to help you and all you do is push me away, why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

 

I think for a while and he waits patiently for an answer. “You shouldn't,” I whisper. “You shouldn't listen to me. I don't even know what I'm doing.”

 

He opens the door, expecting me to turn and leave with my tail tucked between my legs. I don't move, I just watch his hang dog expression for a long second before shedding my jacket and dropping it to the floor.

 

“I'm going to tell you anyway.” I snap.

 

“Of course you are.” He grumbles but he shuts the door and turns to me, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

“I don't know why Cato has such a hold on you and you don't have to tell me, but I do know something,” He rolls his eyes, I didn't know he had it in him. “He's poison and he'll get you busted and he won't protect you the way you protected him last time.” I rush the words out, scared he'll kick me out before I can finish. “He'll drag you right down with him.”

 

He is silent for a long time and I am about to grab my jacket and slink out the door when he finally raises his eyes.

 

“My mother used to lock me outside, for hours.” He says softly. For a moment the only noise between us is the rain pattering against his roof. “Cato and his mom lived down the street and he would sit with me for hours, wait with me.” He walks over and collapses down onto the couch.

 

“Is that how you learned to pick locks?” I ask but he doesn't answer me and that is answer enough.

 

“He was my first friend, he always kept me safe,” Peeta says brokenly. “I won't betray him.”

 

Don't I know that feeling? Gale was my only friend back home, there was a time I would do anything for him.

 

What did Cato do to earn Peeta's devotion?

 

“So you'll let him bring you down?” I snarl. “Just like that?”

 

“It isn't that simple Katniss.” His voice is hard but when he looks up at me his eyes are a dark, midnight blue. A sea of sorrow.

 

“It really is.” I say. “Either you let him go or you fall.”

 

“That's rich,” he says. “Coming from you.”

 

That stings.

 

“You have no say in my life Katniss, you told me to keep away, so I am. You don't get to preach at me, you don't get to tell me what to do.”

 

I guess I deserve that.

 

“You don't get to show up here and make demands of me.” He says.

 

I grab my jacket and storm toward the door. I still have my pride damn it and I don't have to listen to this. He follows me out the door.

 

“God damned it Katniss!” He shouts in the doorway. “You're a total mess you know that?” I do, it still hurts when he says it.

 

I seethe at him, standing on his porch, rain starting to soak my hair, I must look like a drowned rat.

 

“Say it,” He demands. “Say what is on your mind.”

 

“I hate it!” I shout, anger bubbling and festering like the infected wound it is. “I hate that you know, That you can  _ see _ me.” I am wide eyed with rage.

 

“Katniss,” All of the anger has left him, he looks flustered and sorry and unsure. I push my hair out of my face and my eyes fall on that ballerina, still locked in place, curved back and all.

 

“Do you know how she died?” I spit.

 

“She was shot.” He says simply, his eyes falling to the floor.

 

“No,” I whisper coldly. “No, she  _ leaked _ to death, Peeta.” His hands reach for me and I inch away. “It wasn't like in the movies, it took a long time, she felt everything. It destroyed her organs and she felt every bit of it. She bled to death, sobbing and scared as she bled out and I was helpless to stop it.”

 

“I always protected her. She was just a little girl, you know?” I feel myself sinking to my knees. “It wasn't fair!” I shout into the night. My voice echoes through the empty night.

 

I've curled in on myself, my fingers scrape my scalp violently and my stomach throbs painfully.

 

He is lifting me up and carrying me out of the rain and back to the light of his house. It isn't far but he bypasses the couch and carries me to his room. Its tiny, barely fitting us both. The walls are barren, just clean floor and a bed. No signs of life.

 

He drops me on the bed and I sob into his pillow while he looks down at me, just as helpless as I was the day Prim died. When the sobs finally soften to hiccups and the tears dry to salt on my skin I risk looking upward through my soggy eyelashes. Peeta is rooted in place, just watching me. I sit up slowly and lean against the wall.

 

He sits on the edge of the bed. I feel sore and sleepy and I just want to hide but I can't because I have thrown Peeta in the thick of this and I can't run away from him anymore. I wait but I'm not known for my patience so I fidget the whole time.

 

“Just,” He looks at me and its so full of regret and pain my heart batters my chest. “Just say something Peeta, please.”

 

“I'm sorry,” He says finally. “For acting so.... wounded.” His voice is raspy and thick with something unnameable. “It wasn't fair of me.”

 

“Oh well, you know what they say.” I mumble. “Fair is a four letter word.” He smiles faintly and for a moment I think his soul might be made of stars. His very existence made of dying light.

 

His hand comes out and brushes a strand of hair that is dried to my cheek.“Can we be friends again, please?” He asks.

 

I nod despite my better judgment.

 

“I'm sorry I threw you off the porch.” I say. “How are your hands?”

 

“Fine.” He says, showing me the cleaned up scrapes.

 

He lays down next to me and my face finds the hollow of his neck. I press my nose against his warm skin. My eyelids feel heavy and I am drowsy, Peeta's scent all around me. “You're my friend Peeta,” I whisper, pulling myself closer, my lips are touching his neck.

 

“Yeah, we're friends Katniss.” He chuckles.

 

“Nothing will ever change that?” I ask, a pleading note in my voice. My eyes are so heavy, I have no choice but to shut them.

 

“No, nothing.” He says, pressing a kiss into my forehead. His lips are warm, safe.

 

“I'm sorry I yelled.” I say. “I'm just scared for you.” He chuckles at me and if I was less tired I would be angry, but I am tired of being angry.

 

“I know.” He says softly.

 

“Please don't do it.”

 

He doesn't answer me and I know why, he doesn't want to lie to me. He can wield a word like a sword but he won't deliver the death blow, not to me.

 

“Tell me a story.” I ask him.

 

“What kind of a story?”

 

“A happy one.” I say.

 

“I don't know any.” he says, running his fingers through my hair, they catch on my tangles but I don't register any pain, I'm too exhausted.

 

“What would you do if you had a million dollars?” I ask. This makes him laugh.

 

“I'm serious,” I say, my words slurred.

 

“Let's see, I'd pick you up from school and I'd ask you where you wanted to go.”

 

“Anywhere in the world?” I ask.

 

“Anywhere.” He agrees, I smile against his neck.

 

“And that's where we'd go, I'd build my own bakery and we'd live above it and you'd go to school during the day while I worked and we'd come home at night and tell each other about our days. I'd help you wash the dishes and we'd play cards and checkers and you'd beat me every time and I'd pretend to be mad about it, but I wouldn't be.” I yawn and he kisses my cheek like he didn't even think about it, reactionary, he couldn't help it.

 

“We'd fall asleep together, just like this.”

 

“Just like this?” I ask sleepily.

 

“Yeah, punk, just like this.”

 

I want to ask him more about this world but I am already slipping away, farther into the abyss.

 

“I love you, Katniss,” He whispers it into my hair because he thinks I am asleep, too lost to hear him. I want to say it back but I can't.

 

 

XX.XX

 

I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows, tiny motes of dust hang in the early morning light. The storm blew itself out and the day is bright and happy, I can hear the birds chirping, the ocean roaring in the distance. Its an eerie calm and it leaves me instantly on edge. I sit up and blink. My head is throbbing and my face feels dry.

 

Peeta's side of the bed has gone cold, the blankets are still rumpled from where he was laying next to me, the pillow still holds the indentation from his head. My heart goes still, everything is still.

 

Cold dread courses through my blood.

 

I am alone.

 

There is no use calling out for Peeta, he isn't here.

 

 

XX.XX

 

 

I speed up to the restaurant and skid to a stop in the nearest parking lot. I fling through the doors and stand in the foyer with my hair wild around my face and my boots unlaced.

 

“Katniss?” Annie asks me and I turn on her.

 

“Where is Finnick?” I demand.

 

“In the back.” Her voice is quiet and scared and I don't stop to reassure her I slide into the kitchen where Finnick is laughing with Thresh. He stops short when he sees me. His smile faltering.

 

“Katniss?” No Kitty Kat, no gentle teasing, he knows. He has always known this is how this would end. I should beat him senseless.

 

“He's gone.” I say and to my horror my voice cracks. I feel like I did when I was running down the road with no shoes, broken, scared, breathless.

 

Completely alone.

 

His apron is off in an instant, leaving me to follow him blindly as he demands more than tells Thresh to cover for him and that he'd be back soon. He drags me to his car and we climb in. He yells at me to put my seat belt on but I'm telling him to hurry. Finnick speeds through town and decides that stop signs are optional and in record time we are pulling up to a wrecked little blue house at the end of a dirt road.

 

There is a dog tied up to a scraggly oak in the front yard barking his head off but besides that everything is quiet. I can't hear the traffic from the freeway or the ocean or even the birds.

 

The house is decayed, the door coming off its hinges, all the glass broken. A woman comes out and stands on the porch, I'm guessing its Cato's mother or maybe his Aunt. She's wearing a housecoat and her feet are bare and dirty.

 

“What do you want?” She shouts without preamble.

 

“Hello, Amelia.” Finnick says, flashing that million dollar smile of his. I stare at her stone faced. “We're looking for Cato.”

 

“For who?” She sways slightly, only know do I take in the bottle that hangs limply from her fingers.

“Cato, your son.” Finnick clarifies.

 

“Where the fuck is he?” I yell because I have already lost patience with this woman. Finnick gives me a look that tells me to shut my damned mouth.

 

“Round back.” She mutters and disappears back inside.

 

I am running, my feet crunch the gravel but all I hear is the thunder of my blood in my ears. He could be gone already, I could be too late. I will my feet to go faster. Finnick is somewhere behind me, yelling, telling me to slow down. I ignore him completely because I don't have time for this. I need to find Peeta before it is too late.

 

Please don't let it be too late.

 

XX.XX

 

 

_ I hear the sirens in the distance, I hear Gale behind me but I focus on each step I take as I dart down alleyways and speed through streets. I think I've run into someone but all I can think of is how scared she must be. I press on without stopping. My lungs scream at me to stop. I keep going. _

 

_ I hope she had the good sense to cross the street and get the hell out of there. _

 

_ Hold on, Prim. I think. _

 

_ I'm almost there. _

 

XX.XX

 

 

“Katniss, hold up!” Finnick pleads but I am almost to an old garage, the main door is rusted and bolted shut but there is a side door that looks like it leads to a small apartment. That must be where Cato lives.

 

“Katniss,” I'm not listening, I've never been good at following orders. I slam into the door and pause to take in deep heaving lungfuls of crisp, salty air. Its dark inside and I start pounding on the door like mad, screaming for Peeta. When no one moves inside I try the door but it doesn't budge.

 

Finnick grabs me around the middle and I thrash away from him.

 

“Katniss, take it easy.” He says.

 

“Fuck you. Finnick.”

 

“Yeah, kid, Fuck me.” He grumbles as I scream Peeta's name, slamming my palm on the door. “Will you move?” He finally yells and I slink back. In one fluid motion Finnick slams his body into the door and it yawns open as I stand there uncertain and scared at the mouth.

 

“Peeta?” I call.

 

“I don't think he's here, Katniss.” Finnick says and when I look back at him he looks just as scared as I feel. “Maybe we should try somewhere else.”

 

“No,” I whisper. “He's here.” I can feel him with every fiber of my being.

 

I step inside, kicking away bits of the door that landed in my way. The house smells stale and unused like no one has been here for months.

 

“Peeta?” I call.

 

No answer but the silence that hangs all through the house like cobwebs, I am about to give up and turn away, tell Finnick I was wrong when I see it. A light coming from under a door.

 

“Finnick,” I jut my chin in the direction of the door. I've never been happier for my quiet tread as I avoid the copious amounts of garbage in the kitchen.

 

Then I see it, in the half light of the morning. A long red streak along the door frame, like someone stopped to catch their breath.

 

Everything in me shatters.

 

I know that shade of red. I'd know it anywhere. My breath comes in quick gasps as I throw open the door and immediately slide in something wet and sticky. I hit the tiles and for a moment I can't think or breathe or do much of anything.

 

Then I see it.

 

Red.

 

Everywhere.

 

So much of it.

 

“Katniss,” The voice is Peeta's, small and weak.

 

He's here, In this tiny, bathroom that was once white but now a dull gray with time and neglect. But who can tell with all of the blood? How would you be able to see anything else?

 

Every breath comes in panicked gasps as I try to focus on anything, anything but all of this blood.

 

“Katniss.” Peeta says and it snaps me back from wherever I went. “Hey, look at me.”

 

I do.

 

There is blood in his hair.

 

“Peeta?” My voice sounds small and childlike.

 

Blood is coming fast from his stomach and he's tried to staunch the flow the best he can with his hands but its pouring out of him. It's dark, almost black and it clings to every pore of his skin, its under his fingernails, crusted to his lips.

 

“Katniss!” He shouts at me and I shake my head. He comes back into focus. “Hey, Hey,” he crows at me gently. “It's just a little blood, okay?” I nod. He smiles. There is blood on his teeth. “Good girl.” He says. “It's just blood, there is plenty left, I promise.”

 

Finnick is yelling, I think he's on his phone, he is prattling an address off when I wake up from whatever dream state I'd been living in for the past few moments.

 

I crawl forward on my hands and knees and rip my shirt off and over my head, pressing it to his stomach.

 

“All I had to do was get shot for you to take your shirt off?” He jokes but his voice is weak. “I should get shot more often.”

 

“Shut up,” I say and he smiles. “Hold this here, press really hard Peeta.” I say, he does.

 

“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” I shout it so loud that Finnick stills for a second. He's laying against a ancient claw foot tub that looks like its not hooked up to anything. I crawl forward and pull him down so his head is in my lap. Then I press my hands over his, hoping to stop some of the blood flow. “I'd shoot you myself.” I grumble more to myself than him, my voice shakes and I almost dissolve into tears myself but I remind myself I can't, I'm holding my shirt and I can't give into it, not yet.

 

“There on there way, Peeta.” I try to sound reassuring but I don't.

 

“None of the nurses will be as pretty as you.” He says.

 

“Yeah well, they actually know what there doing, so.” I let my voice trail off.

 

“You are so mad at me,” He says and his voice is so weak it scares me.

 

“Damned right, I am fucking mad at you.” I whisper. “I am so fucking mad at you.” I snarl. “But not as mad as I will be if you shut your fucking eyes.” His eyelids are heavy but snap back to attention and he looks up at me.

 

“Katniss, I'm scared.” He says, his voice is barely there.

 

“Me too,” I say, pressing harder on his stomach. Finnick paces the doorway, talking quickly, his face pale. I watch him but he refuses to look at Peeta.

 

“Does it make you feel better to know you were right and I should have listened to you?”

 

“A little,” I try to joke but it falls flat, still I press harder.

 

“It's cold.” Peeta whines. I don't attempt to comfort him because I am screaming at Finnick.

 

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE AMBULANCE!” Finnick looks at me helplessly and as if on cue I hear a chorus of sirens coming up the street.

 

“Peeta do you hear that?” I ask. “They'll be here to fix you up.”

 

“Katniss, I'm really sorry.” Peeta says, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Fuck your sorry.” I snarl. “Get better, then apologize.”

 

His eyes roll up in his head. He looks like a broken doll on the floor.

 

“Peeta?” He's gone.

 

“Peeta?”

 

Fuck.

 

“Peeta, can you hear me?” If my hands weren't occupied I would slap him.

 

“Peeta, stay with me!” I demand.

 

“Stay with me damned it, do you hear me?”

 

I get silence for an answer. Someone is sobbing, it might be me.

 

“Peeta say it.” His eyes come back into focus for a moment. “Stay with me?” I plead. He just looks at me for a long moment. His mouth parts but he doesn't say anything.

 

I can see it in his eyes, he wants to comfort me but he can't.

 

He can't say it.

 

He won't lie to me, even when he's dying.

 

Finnick has left and is waving the ambulance crew in and all too quickly they are shoving me out of the way. I can't take my eyes off Peeta as they lift him onto a stretcher and strap him down.

 

I feel Finnick come up behind me and wrap his worn out hoodie over my shoulders, that's when I remember I am only in my bra, I look down at the blood streaking my stomach. There is a pool of it near my knees, that has soaked into my pants, warm and sticky. Its saturated my shoes completely.

 

“We're taking him to County General” A woman tells me. She looks like she doesn't have time for me.

 

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, I sound like a child. Her expression softens.

 

“Too soon to tell.”

 

“Thank you.” Finnick says, as a group leads Peeta out the door.

 

There is a large black pool of blood left behind, I turn away from it and wretch in the sink until there is nothing left in my stomach.

 

“Katniss, come on.” He whispers. “We gotta go to the hospital.”

 

He tries to get me up and moving but I slide to the ground, I can't rip my eyes off the blood. So much of it.

 

Peeta's dead.

 

That's all that I can think.

 

He's lost so much of that red stuff, and you need it to survive, he won't survive. He can't. He can't stay with me.

 

Finnicks voice becomes far away, lost to a sea of static.

 

I can't

 

I can't move.

 

“I can't breathe.” I say, finally breaking. My body gives up on moving and I let out a sob. Finnick gives up on trying to get me to move on my own and carries me to the car.

 

I'm getting blood all over the seat of his car and he doesn't seem to care.

 

We are at the hospital in mere minutes and I look up at the sterile white building. Everything in me is shaking.

 

“You coming, Katniss?” Finnick asks.

 

“No.” I say flatly.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because,” My voice is clear and strong. “Because he's dead.”

 

“No, No, No he's not.” Finnick says as if he believes it.

 

“Yes,” My chin gives out and I am sobbing into my hand. “He is.”

 

“Come inside and see.”

 

“No.”

 

Finnick lets out a long suffering sigh, looking up at the building in front of us.

 

By the time he turns around I'm gone.  


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm somewhere in Utah when the feelings hit me. Hard and fast like a punch in the gut. I pull over in the middle of nowhere and sob against the steering wheel. I pound my skull against it, hoping to deaden the stabbing in my stomach. When I don't have anymore tears I stare out at the headlights of the cars, the neon lights of the tiny diners, the darkness.
> 
>  
> 
> So much darkness.

_I can't breathe._

 

_My lungs and legs scream at me to stop but I urge myself on, just a little faster. I'm almost to the old Hambry hotel. The hollowed out shell of a building watches over me as I leap over that crack in the sidewalk where we usually play our worn out instruments for people's spare change and I turn the corner, Gale's hot on my heels, begging me to stop._

 

_I run into a girl that skirts a large crowd of people. All of them packed into the street, craning there necks trying to see. I shove my way through the crowd, elbowing those that don't get out of my way fast enough. I am just pushing through when Gale screams at me to stop._

 

_“Don't look.” He says and I don't understand._

 

_That's when I see her._

 

_Her backpack is stained red, it soaks through the canvas, darkening by the second._

 

 

_“Prim?”_

 

_One shoe has been ripped off her and lies discarded in the street. I think I sink to my knees because everyone is looking down at me. I blink, once, twice, trying to catch my breath. Time seems to stop and the only thing I can focus on is the backpack, soaked in red._

 

_“Katniss?” She sounds so scared, it snaps me out of whatever dreamscape I have been living in for the passed few moments. I crawl forward because I don't trust my legs to carry me all the way._

 

_People are running around like crazy._

 

_I vaguely see the body covered in a white sheet a few feet off. Smoke is everywhere, choking me with its thick, ashy smell. Men are running around us everywhere. A cop is speaking furiously into a little radio on his shoulder. He's holding a cloth to my sisters stomach._

 

_“Katniss!” My sister is screaming for me._

 

_“Prim,” I finally find my voice and I wish I didn't. She starts thrashing like mad, trying to find me. The man begs her to stay still, she's crying, tears etching a path in the smear of blood and dirt on her cheek._

 

_I finally reach her, my hand finding hers and clasping it desperately._

 

_“Katniss?” its a question. Its a sob._

 

_“I'm right here Prim.” I say, pushing her hair out of her face._

 

_The man tells me an ambulance is coming, people are on there way to help her. He puts his hand on me but I have turned into some feral beast and I yank away._

 

_“Katniss,” Prim says, her voice is so quiet._

 

_The blood is everywhere, she's laying in a puddle of it. I have it all over my hands, my shirt, it is in my hair._

 

_“Katniss, it hurts.” She's given up being brave, she's sobbing in earnest._

 

_“I know baby,” I say, doing my best to keep my own cries at bay but tears are leaking down my face and I wipe them away so I can see her._

 

_She's writhing now._

 

_“Help me.” She says._

 

_I put my hand to my mouth because I can't lie to her._

 

_I've never been so helpless in my life._

 

_“Katniss, it hurts.” She says._

 

_“I know, Prim.” I say. “You are so brave.” I try to swallow my tears. I can't let her see how scared I am, she's frightened enough as it is._

 

_Then I hear it._

 

_I hear it over the wail of sirens and the people screaming and the roar of blood in my ears. The rattle in her chest with each deep heave of her lungs._

 

_No._

 

_No._

 

_No._

 

_Her eyes roll up in her skull and her body contorts, she makes this noise from the back of her throat that I can only describe as hell._

 

_For a long moment everything goes absolutely still._

 

_Then she begins to seize up, her body jerking in an odd way._

 

_“Prim,” my voice is oddly quiet. “Primrose!” it comes loud now and frantic. The cop pushes me out of the way and I fall back, staring at him as he begins to monitor her breathing. He turns her head to the side where bloody foam leaks from her lips._

 

_Her lungs are filling up with blood._

 

_She's drowning._

 

XX.XX

 

 

Finnick won't find me here.

 

I'm at the end of the world.

 

The wind catches my hair and it blows free around my face. I watch the water, calm and serene all the while my whole world is on fire. Why doesn't the world have the good graces to pause and let us catch our breath? In a world of cruel things I think this might be the cruelest thing the world has to offer.

 

I am looking a little worse for wear. There is blood crusted under my fingernails and my pants have dried to a sticky mess, I should go home and shower but I can't move.

 

The ocean is as brilliant a blue as the sky.

 

Spring is on the way. A time for the world to replenish after a merciless winter. A day that I would love otherwise.

 

I stand here on the rock wall at the vista point until the sky turns to a fiery orange and I can't bear it anymore, I turn away and walk back to the car not daring to look behind me even once.

 

I drive back to the hospital, my eyes dry and burning.

 

When I stumble up to the doors Finnick and Johanna are on me in an instant with a million questions. I raise my hand in a plea for silence.

 

“Where is he?” I ask.

 

“In surgery.” Johanna says, her voice hollow and empty.

 

XX.XX

 

 

I walk like a ghost through the halls, ducking staff and slipping down brightly lit corridors until I find my way to the right ward. I can hear wailing in a room nearby, the waiting room. I keep going, one foot in front of another.

 

Then I am in a room with windows.

 

I don't know how I ended up here, how I didn't get caught and ushered back to the waiting room.

 

Here I am.

 

There are so many tubes and monitors that at first I don't know what I am looking at. Then I see a gold curl sticking up, stained copper and I know for sure. That mass on the bed is Peeta.

 

They have a machine breathing for him. All that is left of Peeta is tissue and meat and precious little blood. Most of it is staining my jeans. My hand, crusted with copper comes up and rests on the glass separating us.

 

I turn and walk away.

 

I saw what I came for.

 

I'm done.

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

The house is abnormally quiet. I think I saw Haymitch's truck in the parking lot of the hospital, he and Effie must be waiting for me there. I kill the engine and sit there for a moment, in the half light of dusk trying to decipher exactly what it is I am feeling right now.

 

I don't feel anything, that's the problem.

 

And sweet talking Peeta isn't here to make me feel anything.

 

I have an odd sense of resolve.

 

I climb the stairs like a zombie. My phone buzzes in my pocket again and again but I ignore it. I grab my leather bag and shove some stuff into it, not really looking, not really caring. I grab the cash I keep stowed in a box in the closet, my meager earnings from the restaurant.

 

I should shower off all this blood, change my clothes, sleep. I don't do any of that. I just sling the bag onto my shoulder and heft my fathers guitar, still safe in its case and walk right back out the door. I lock it behind me and tuck my key under the potted plant next to the door.

 

I don't belong here.

 

I never did.

 

I'll have to owe Effie the car.

 

XX.XX

 

The redwoods are long gone. I follow the winding freeways out from the coast, out of the small mining towns that dot the foothills and into the valley of hot tar mac and beef ranches. I've just barely made it to interstate 80 before I have to pull over.

 

I end up in the tall, dry grass at the side of the road, doubled over and vomiting up bile into the dirt until my stomach twists painfully. When I am done, I climb back into the car, sore and exhausted. My phone lights up and I can't help looking at the text.

 

There are a million of them. From Delly and Finnick and Johanna.

 

Haymitch called me twice.

 

His text sends something cold down my spine.

 

_Two hours kid, Then I'm reporting the car stolen._

 

Its a warning and as usual, I'm not heeding it.

 

I drop my phone in the middle console and buckle my seat belt. I've got to keep moving, its a long drive home.

 

XX.XX

 

I'm somewhere in Utah when the feelings hit me. Hard and fast like a punch in the gut. I pull over in the middle of nowhere and sob against the steering wheel. I pound my skull against it, hoping to deaden the stabbing in my stomach. When I don't have anymore tears I stare out at the headlights of the cars, the neon lights of the tiny diners, the darkness.

 

So much darkness.

 

XX.XX

I'm standing in a gas station, under the glare of the unnatural lighting and the gentle whirl of the air conditioning. I've been staring at the brightly wrapped candy bars for a while now. Not making any move, just standing there, staring. I am aware that people are watching me but I don't care.

  
  


“Sweetheart, are you okay?” A voice says from somewhere behind me. I turn slowly. A woman in her early forties in a blue polo shirt and name tag is standing behind me. She looks concerned for me. Her large, dark eyes has something primal inside of them. Fear.

  
  


Her name tag says Seeder.

  
  


I've been looking at her too long.

  
  


“Do you need help, honey?”

  
  


It snaps something inside of me and I grab the first candy bar I see, though I have no intention of eating it. I pass her up without a word and set the candy bar on the counter next to the register. She follows and rings up my purchase without a word.

  
  


“I also need gas, uh, twenty dollars on pump six please.” I dare to raise my eyes to her.

  
  


“Did some one hurt you?” She insists. She's looking at the blood splattered on my pants. I'm still in Finnicks sweatshirt. It has blood on it too.

  
  


I shake my head.

  
  


“N-No.” I say shakily.

  
  


“Is there someone I can call?”

  
  


I almost laugh at this. I'm in the middle of fuck-all nowhere. A place people stop on the way to somewhere else. This isn't home. There is no one to call.

  
  


“No, I'm okay, really.” I try to smile.

  
  


“Are, Are you-”

  
  


I set some money on the counter.

  
  


“Keep the change.” I snap, grabbing up the candy bar. The pounding of blood in my ears is so loud I don't hear the bell above the door jingle.

  
  


I catch my reflection in the window. My eyes are wide, like dinner plates and my hair has escaped my braid, flying around my face in the wind. There are droplets of red on my cheek. For a moment I am lost trying to find myself in the girl staring back at me. She blinks her eyes.

  
  


I realize I don't know this girl at all.

  
  


Sometime in the morning I'll be back in the seam. Back among the rotting wood and tired people that never really look at you. The sea is behind me.

  
  


I tell myself I don't miss the salt and sand that invades everything like a conquering army.

  
  


I tell myself I don't need it. I never did.

  
  


I twist the key in the ignition and the car comes to life. The radio crackles.

  
  


My fingers are just about to click it off.

 

The Freshman by The Verve Pipe is playing. It stills my fingers.

  
  


My head falls against the steering wheel. My chin quivers but I hold strong.

  
  


I don't cry.

XX.XX

 

 

Did Peeta believe them? When they told him I was a good person. Did he believe them? Can he see it now? I was raised in the seam, a place he has never seen with his own eyes. Its a promise, the seam. Its the promise of going to bed starving, starving for food, safety, love.

 

Sometimes I forget that Peeta had everything in abundance and still went to bed starving. I forget that he knows that it feels like a gun being pressed to the roof of your mouth. It feels like you're alive and awake, writhing in your own grave, unable to escape.

 

He also knows about me, the acid-girl, the monster. He knows my cruelty, he's slept in the same bed, held it in his arms, cupped it in his hands as it spilled uselessly onto the pavement.

 

The seam is colder than it was before, or maybe it's me.

 

Morning is just streaking the sky when I pull into church parking lot and cross the lawn on numb feet.

 

I find her easily among the headstones. The simple cross bearing her name and dates. A cross that they found a acceptable replacement for a sister.

 

I fall to my knees in the wet grass.

 

I try to think of something to say to the cross.

 

It mocks me, the granite laughs at my weakness and I have nothing to offer it. I am not stone, I am a girl.

 

“Sorry I'm late.” I whisper.

 

I get only silence for an answer.

 

It feels like I have a knife stuck in my stomach, the question is do I leave it in or rip it out and bleed to death?

 

XX.XX

 

 

_I rip my sister from the man's arms._

 

_The stiff jerking movements are gone. She's a limp doll in the middle of the street._

 

_“Prim?”_

 

_The man falls backward, rubbing the sweat from his forehead smearing blood across his skin. Its the smear of blood that brings me back._

 

_“Prim!” I am shaking her now._

 

_“Prim, wake up.” I demand._

 

_Its no use._

 

_I can cry all I like and it doesn't do a thing._

 

_She's dead._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to come up for air.
> 
>  
> 
> I want to live.
> 
>  
> 
> Even if its for someone else.

 

 

 

It is funny, what death takes away from us.

 

Things that you wouldn't think of. Things that you don't miss until they are gone forever.

 

I miss laughing with Prim on rainy days. So hard that our stomachs were sore afterward and our cheeks hurt.

 

The soft curve of her wrist. Did I ever really look at it?

 

I miss the smell of her shampoo.

 

I know now the clock was always running out for us. We can't win. Not really. Death is always dogging our steps. From our first breath we are being chased. Days already running out. We just don't realize it.

 

I remember an innocuous day. Something utterly mundane. The sound of laughter from downstairs. The sound of feet running on floorboards as Rory chases her through the house. A shout in the midday silence as I sit at my desk, staring at a ballerina music box. Twin bubblegum blue dots of paint stare back at me. Cold. Lifeless.

 

I want to reach through time and pluck her from my memory. I want to drag her back.

 

I want to save her.

 

I crush a dandelion beneath my boot.

 

Was it time for that dandelion?

 

Death chases all of us.

 

Something or someone stronger will survive us.

 

That's just the way it is. It isn't fair or right. In fact it is downright cruel.

 

Especially on a day as beautiful as this one.

 

The sky is bright,endless and cold. Heavy with the moisture of dew. Birds sing in the trees and all the while I feel nothing as I stare at my sisters grave. The sun bathes everything in a buttery light. The frost glitters as it melts. The world is waking around me. Cars honk and children laugh, dogs bark.

 

I was so sure the answers were here.

 

Now that I am looking at the cold granite I am not sure of anything.

 

For so long it was just Prim and I.

 

She was my world.

 

I lost her.

 

What's left now?

 

Just me.

 

That's the problem with someone being your whole world. You lose them and what's left? Nothing.

 

And nothing is what I became.

 

Anger and hate have consumed so much. I fear that when I come out the other side I will be only ash. Burned beyond recognition. I'll crumble at the slightest touch. The end of the world is fire.

 

And I was thrown into it headlong. But I found something there. Didn't I? I found Peeta in the embers. And he was burning too wasn't he? In fact, we all were. Everyone around me is consumed with pain. I am no different than Cinna, Finnick, Peeta, Johanna. We are all drowning beneath the weight of life.

 

I want to come up for air.

 

I want to live.

 

Even if its for someone else.

 

The thought of it knocks the breath from my chest. I feel the air escape from my lips and for a moment my lungs burn. I wheeze and press the heels of my hands against my face. Willing the emptiness to subside. I suck in a heaving breath at last. Its shaky but the air is sweet. For the first time maybe ever, I relish its sweetness.

 

My fathers guitar is heavy against my back. I slide it from my shoulder, crack open the worn case and pull it reverently into my lap. The wood is smooth and cold beneath my fingertips. Its almost like I can feel the yellowed fingerprints of my father on the wood. I slip the strap over my shoulder, letting the heaviness of the instrument settle into my very bones.

 

My fingers, still copper stained, pluck at a string. The sound reverberates and echoes off the gravestones.

 

_“I was so scared.”_ I feel my face crumple. Though I knew it was just a matter of time until she showed up. “ _I just wanted my big sister.”_ My eyes slide shut. “ _It wasn't easy.”_ Her death, she means.  _“But maybe it wasn't suppose to be.”_

 

I crack my eyes open and drink her in. She looks like she did in life. She's whole. Two blonde braids. Cheeky smile. Owl eyed and beautiful.

 

My girl.

 

By some miracle I can feel the world spin on it's axis.

 

 

 

“ _I needed help.”_ She whispers. I feel my chin tremble. In fact, my whole being is trembling. I grip my fathers guitar closer to me. “ _You always helped me.”_

 

She's going to say it.

 

I wipe away a stray tear from my cheek and heave in a panting breath. This is what it was like for her.

 

This is what drowning feels like.

 

“ _But you couldn't help me.”_ She says.

 

“Prim?” My voice comes out harsh, breathless, hopeless.

 

“ _You hear me?”_ She says. Her voice is hard and firm.  _“No one could of stopped it.”_

 

There it is.

 

It hits me hard, square in the chest.

 

_“You can't help me anymore.”_

 

Air is like acid in my lungs.

 

_“You can still help him.”_

 

My eyes shoot open. She looking at me, eyes wide and dark and just what I need them to be. Then she does the familiar. What I need from her. She tilts her head and rests it on my shoulder. For a moment I just live in it. The cold morning air. The remembered weight of my sister. The smell of her shampoo.

 

For a moment I let myself remember. Because in a moment she'll be gone.

 

“ _You know, we always say the sun will keep rising.”_ I can hear the sly smile on her face. “ _But the sun doesn't rise, the earth rotates.”_ I don't say anything. I am too busy trying to memorize the planes of her face. “ _It'll keep rotating Katniss.”_

 

“I'm scared.” I whisper.

 

_“Don't be.”_  She whispers.  _“This was always going to happen.”_

 

My eyes slide shut. I feel the warmth of her lips pressed to my forehead. The comfort of them.

 

_“Sing to me, sister.”_  I shatter like glass.

 

“I can't.” I say.

 

_“It's okay,”_  She says.  _“Let me go.”_

 

“I can't.”

 

_“Do it.”_  She says.

 

I shake my head.

 

_“Find the note.”_  She whispers.

 

I have no choice. When my sobs finally die to hiccups I focus on tuning the guitar. My fingers are nimble, even in the cold. I've done this a thousand times. It comes as easily as breathing.

 

Then I play.

 

A song my father whispered to my mother. A thousand moments run through my head. Twisted metal steaming in the cold of winter. Breath coming out sharp and silver. My sister dancing in the low light of the kitchen with my mother. Walking home at three in the morning. Bricks against my back as Gale kissed me in the winter air. Peeta and I, eyes locked together in the early morning light. The pulse of electricity humming through me like blood being pulled through a vein. Memory Peeta steps forward and I imagine for a moment where we would be if I hadn't run. If I had stepped forward too. Would I be here now?

 

The song comes easily now.

 

I found the note that'll keep me alive.

 

In a song so painful, I can barely breath.

 

_You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last_  
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast  
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun  
Crying like a fire in the sun  
Look out the saints are comin' through  
And it's all over now, baby blue

_The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense_  
Take what you have gathered from coincidence  
The empty-handed painter from your streets  
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets  
This sky, too, is folding under you  
And it's all over now, baby blue

_All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home_  
All your reindeer armies, are all going home  
The lover who just walked out your door  
Has taken all his blankets from the floor  
The carpet, too, is moving under you  
And it's all over now, baby blue

_Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you_  
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you  
The vagabond who's rapping at your door  
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore  
Strike another match, go start anew  
And it's all over now, baby blue

  
My voice is ragged at first. Hoarse and harsh with too many tears and years, but soon it warms up into something wonderful, warm and lush as velvet and just as decadent.

  


Then silence.

  


My eyes open.

  


My sister is gone.

  


I'm alone.

  


Then I sob, because I know she won't be back, not this time.

  


I let myself be swallowed by a storm.

  


I sob and scream at the unfairness of it all. I let myself feel it, finally. I let it soak through my being and just when I think it will never end, it does. My sobs soften to sniffles and my eyes are sore and my head aches but I am miraculously still alive. I am whole. I am not broken.

  


My sister is sunspots now, a simple energy that was absorbed back into the earth.

  


Gone but everywhere.

  


Lost to infinity.

  


I tilt my head back until I see the cross, a simple stone that stands against the elements. Soon she will be gone from living memory, this little girl of mine. People will pass by this rock and only see a name, dates attached and feel nothing toward it.

  


But once, I was here, my fingers tracing her name in the early morning sunlight as if my fingerprints could cross time and space and remember what they felt when they touched the soft skin of her cheek.

  


I have to let her go now.

  


I know people don't have to die to be dead. I've seen it in my mother's eyes, the hollowness that she holds in her heart. Unable to let go of the man that would sing to her at night, kept her nightmares at bay. Some people swallow pills, some just let the light die.

  


“I'm not dead,” I say to the sky, an odd defiance in my voice.

  


This is when I know.

  


Peeta isn't either.

  


  


XX.XX

  


I walk down the street where my sister died.

  


I step over the jagged crack.

  


My hands shoved into the pocket of Finnicks sweatshirt. People stare at me, the girl covered in blood staring at a point on the street.

  


It looks completely normal.

  


They washed away my sisters blood from the pavement.

  


I step into the street, the two yellow lines staring back up at me.

  


Then I glance up at the sky, blue and endless and cold.

  


The sun beats down against my cheek, just barely warm.

  


Something funny bubbles in my chest.

 

A laugh.

  


Someone honks.

  


I flip them off. Then? What do I do?

  


Keep walking, I guess.

  


XX.XX

  


My house looms over me.

  


The barren yard and peeling paint. The laundry line at the side of the house where my mother used to hang out sheet out to billow in the wind.

  


It takes all of my strength to pry the boards from the door.

  


Then I am standing inside.

  


Its clear my uncle paid someone to clean up in here. There aren't any rotten take out containers, no junk mail lining the floor. There is a fine layer of dust on my father's piano, the coffee table, the kitchen counter.

  


I can hear them.

  


The ghosts.

  


My fathers laugh.

  


A sob from my mother.

  


Prim's music echoing from our room.

  


I drop my fathers guitar as I stare up at the stairs that hang in the afternoon lights. The upset dust motes hang in the sunlight. I should climb the stairs, take a bath, go to bed. I don't have any energy for any of it. I fall onto the couch and drag an old afghan over the top of me. It smells like mold and does little to warm me but I am so tired I don't care.

  


Almost instantly I am asleep.

  


When my eyes open it's dusk. Shadows dance and everything is just so... quiet.

  


I look around.

  


No signs of life.

  


There is no comfort in the cobwebs.

  


Haymitch was right, this place is a fucking tomb.

  


Then it hits me.

  


I am such a fucking coward.

  


Peeta is fighting for his life right now and where am I? Hiding with my ghosts in the shrine of my dead. I never should of come back here. I think some small part of me needed to realize it. Needed to see it for myself, as a reminder.

  


She isn't here.

  


XX.XX

  


My mother had Prim everywhere.

  


She was painted on canvases, pictures nailed to the walls, taped to the windows. My mother was always trying to find the exact shade of Prim's eyes, impossible to replicate.

  


It felt like a knife stabbing me in the stomach for so long.

  


Her eyes staring at me.

  


Accusing.

  


Now as I step into the kitchen, it's like air.

  


She was here.

  


She was really here.

  


I spent the rest of the evening pulling the photos down from the walls and boxing them to take back to California. I want to show him all of me. I want to show him Prim and my Father and sing him to sleep like my father did for my mother.

  


A door slams outside and my stomach hits the ground.

  


I slink forward.

  


Gale.

  


I watch from the window as he kisses a girl with hair like moonlight. His hands have caught her jaw as he holds her tenderly. They stand in the dirt that he called a yard, among the glass shards and his siblings toys. The pink bike laying discarded that I can only assume is Posy's.

  


I press my fingers to my lips. I try to remember what it was like kissing Gale. The taste of him, the warmth and pressure. The feeling of his hands in my hair. Holding me like I was something breakable.

  


I find I feel nothing.

  


Because all I can see is sugar blue eyes looking at me like I will shatter. Dimples. Arms strong and warm holding me as I shattered. Then helped build me back into something new, something better.

  


I am done with blaming Gale.

  


He's kissing another's lips now.

  


And it's okay.

  


I breath in and try to remember what it was like sitting on the handlebars of his bike. His chin pressed against my shoulder. When I was so sure we'd always be friends.

  


We always did the best we could.

  


It wasn't enough.

  


I step away from the window.

  


XX.XX

  


_I'm sitting in the cab of Peeta's truck. The heater is blasting against my face, blowing my bangs back from my face. I press my hands against it, trying to warm them as Peeta climbs into the drivers seat. I give him a sideways look. His eyebrows are raised, waiting._

  


_“What?” I ask._

  


_“Where are we headed?” He asks._

  


_I just shrug my shoulders. I hadn't meant to end up anywhere. I just felt so stifled in the house. I needed an escape, one that I always know that Peeta is willing to provide._

  


_“Anywhere.” I say._

  


_“Anywhere it is then.” He says, twisting the key in the ignition._

  


_The radio blares to life._

  


_Crash into me._

  


_The Dave Matthews band._

  


_I roll my eyes and move to switch it off._

  


_Peeta's hand covers mine. I jerk back._

  


_He works hard not to look hurt. I feel like an asshole._

  


_“I didn't realize you liked the Dave Matthews band.” I snort._

  


_“I didn't realize you were a snob.” He snaps back and I give him my best approximation of a smile. “Now, where are we headed?”_

  


_“We could stay right here?” I say._

  


_“Okay.” He says slowly, uncertainly._

  


_I'm quiet too long._

  


_Peeta seems lost in thought. A thousand miles away. Lost in an intensity that I only see glimpses of. Its like he has whole worlds locked away inside of him._

  


_“Peeta?” I ask, my voice is so small. I bite my lip._

  


_“Katniss?”_

  


_“What are you thinking about?”_

  


_He smiles._

  


_It's like lightning in the night._

  


_“Painting.”_

  


_“What?”_

  


_“I wish I had my paints, I'd paint a flower on your cheek.” He says softly. “Right here.”_

  


_His finger brushes the invisible flower on my cheek. My eyes flutter shut. He's so warm._

  


_When I open my eyes he's watching me. Eyes so blue. I'm drowning in them._

  


_Suddenly, I love the Dave Matthews band. I love this song._

  


_Because it will forever be tied to this moment, when Peeta is looking at me, finger ghosting across my skin like I am made of glass._

  


_I want to kiss him. I want to taste him. I want to taste his sweat. To be drunk on it. I want his human love, rank and gasping and real._

  


_So real._

  


_I want._

  


_I need._

  


I wake gasping. A cold sweat beading on my skin. It takes too long to formulate that there is someone pounding on the front door. Three dull thuds and I am hiding under the afghan. Praying they'll go away.

  


They don't.

  


Finally I relent. I throw open the door, prepared for a fight. Teeth bared.

  


The porch light blinds me, for a moment I can only stand there and blink. Trying to decipher what I am seeing exactly.

  


Copper hair. Flip flops. Cargo shorts still dotted with blood.

  


Finnick.

  


For a long, empty moment we just look at each other. Then he opens his mouth and speaks.

  


“Can Katniss come out and play?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song Katniss sings is It's all over now, Baby Blue by Bob Dylan.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We fall asleep just like that.
> 
>  
> 
> Together.
> 
>  
> 
> Alone.
> 
>  
> 
> Mending.

****

I gape at Finnick.

 

He gives me a wry smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

 

“What are you doing here?” I snap. I don't mean for my voice to sound so hollow. It does anyway.

 

“I need my sweatshirt back.” He says simply. His hand runs through his hair.

 

“I was going to come back.” I say flatly, because the sympathetic look he's giving me looks a lot like an accusation. “I was-” My voice dies in my throat.

 

“I know,” He says softly.

 

I shift my weight to the balls of my feet and fidget uncomfortably. My hand is glued to the door knob. I block his path inside. I don't want him to see where I lived, in the before. I am ashamed of the rusted hinges of the doors, the peeling paint, the shabby, scraped up hardwood floors.

 

I think he senses my discomfort.

 

“Aren't you going to invite us in, Katniss?” He asks.

 

“Us?” I ask, peering around him.

 

“This place is a hole.” Johanna sniffs, walking up the drive from Finnicks car. She gives me a sly grin.

 

“Haymitch wants his car back.” Finnick says somewhat guiltily. I sigh, of course.

 

I throw the door open.

 

“Come in then, I guess.”

 

Finnick steps inside and looks around, I tilt my chin up, daring him to say something, anything. I have no qualms about throwing them both back out onto the street.

 

“Is that a Sesame Street blanket?” He asks, pointing to a comforter that’s slung over my mothers old recliner.

 

“I liked Elmo when I was a kid.” I say defensively.

 

“Funny, I would of pegged you for an Oscar the grouch kind of a girl.” He gives me a small smile.

 

I smile back, it feels odd on my face.

 

Johanna makes herself at home, flipping on lights. When she gets to the kitchen I hear a sharp inhale of her breath.

 

“This your sister, Kitty?” She asks, turning in a slow circle.

 

I haven't gotten all the pictures down yet.

 

“Uh.” I shove my hands in my pockets. Finnick raises his eyebrows at me. My eyes fall to the floor. “Uh, yeah, um, that's Prim.”

 

Slowly Finnick leads me into the other room, content to let me drag my feet. Johanna has a photograph in her hand. She's sitting on the counter, head resting against the oak cupboards.

 

“She was pretty.”

 

She was.

 

It's still a punch in the gut.

 

“Yeah, she was, wasn't she?” Because it feels like I am looking at her for real now. She's all around me. I drink her in. The summer light in her hair. The spray of freckles across her nose. The blue of her eyes. I take the photo in Johanna's hand gingerly and clutch it to my chest.

 

My legs feel like pudding.

 

I sink.

 

Finnick catches me.

 

“Come on,” He says, propping me up against him. “Let's get you cleaned up.” He gives Johanna a pointed look. She takes my hand like I am a child and leads me up the stairs.

 

“Don't let her out of your sight for a second.” Finnick growls at her. So low they probably think I can't hear. My eyes shoot up and meet his. I see the fear, the pain.

 

So much pain.

 

He's scared I'll hurt myself.

 

I want to comfort him but I can't. So I do the only thing I can and I don't resist as Johanna takes me into the bathroom and flicks on the light.

 

I listen to the roar of the water in the tub. She strips me of my bloodied clothes and I am so tired I don't even care that I am naked in front of her.

 

I stare at myself in the mirror for a long second.

 

My hair is wild around my face, my cheeks are hollow, my lips are chapped.

 

What does Peeta see in me?

 

Peeta.

 

My heart lurches in my chest.

 

“Okay, brainless.” Johanna says, but there is no bite to her voice, no malice. She takes my elbow and steadies me as I climb into the water.

 

I watch the water tinge pink.

 

“Peeta?” She knows what I am asking her.

 

“He got out of surgery a couple of hours ago.” She whispers. “He isn't awake yet.”

 

I nod.

 

“He'll want to see you.” She says. “When he wakes up, he'll want to see you.”

 

I don't deserve that. I don't deserve him at all.

 

I must of said that out loud.

 

“It's not about deserving.” She snaps, her voice hard, but not angry. “He loves you. The movie kind. Head over heels, drive to the airport to stop you kind.” Her eyes study me as I sink into the water. She sighs and suds up my hair.

 

“Do you love him?” She asks.

 

I swallow the lump that's climbing up my throat. I don't know much about love. I loved Prim, with everything I had and she died. I thought I loved Gale, but he never made me feel like Peeta does. He never made me raw with emotion, he never made my heart beat wildly in my chest. He never looked at me like I was the only girl in the whole world worth looking at.

 

Johanna grins.

 

“That's what I thought.”

 

It must have been written all over my face.

 

“So,” She motions for me to tilt my head back and she focuses for a moment on rinsing the soap from my hair. It smells like my mother. Like comfort and rain and lavenders on a spring day.

 

“So,” She starts again. “What are you going to do about it?”

 

XX.XX

 

She sets me on my bed.

 

I stare at my sisters side of the room.

 

Somebody made the beds, cleaned up and boxed her things neatly. I wait for the heat of anger that a stranger touched her things, but it isn't there. I just feel exhausted.

 

Johanna rifles through the closet and finds a shirt and some jeans. I dress slowly then she brushes my hair in long, clean strokes.

 

I don't deserve her kindness, or Finnicks for that matter. But maybe Johanna is right, it is not about deserving.

 

Sometimes you have to accept the love at face value and trust that everything is going to be alright.

 

You can't let the fear of what you can lose overcome you.

 

You have to feel it.

 

I braid my still wet hair over my shoulder and stand. My spine forced straight and Johanna sniffs approvingly.

 

I descend the stairs with forced strength. Finnick is leaned against the bannister, watching me like he is waiting for me to do something crazy.

 

“There is something I have to do.” I say softly.

 

“Then let's get it done.”

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

The hospital is still as cold and sterile as I remember it.

 

My mother is asleep. Her hair is lank around her face. She looks peaceful in rest. The wrinkles smoothed from her face. She looks like she did when I was young, sitting on the hood of her car in the spring sunlight. The woman the fathers all looked at longingly.

 

Her beauty radiates from within her very soul.

 

So much of my life I have been so angry with her for the things she was. The things she couldn't control.

 

She was getting by the only way she knew how, just like me, and I can no longer find a fault in that.

 

She was just ill equipped.

 

We are two sides of the same coin I guess.

 

I pull the photograph from my pocket.

 

It was a happy day by the lake. My father has Prim on his hip. I am in my mothers lap, her arms wrapped around me.

 

We were all here once.

 

I set the photo on her nightstand gently, propped up so it'll be the first thing she sees when she wakes.

 

I lean forward and press a soft kiss to her forehead. She stirs but doesn't wake. She is somewhere far away from me. Maybe she is dreaming about a happy day at a lake.

 

Whatever she is dreaming. I hope it is sweet.

 

I turn and head out the door.

 

The hallways are silent. Lights flicker.

 

I feel like I am swallowed whole by the cloying, antiseptic smell.

 

I find a nurses station. The woman sitting at the desk watches me carefully as I fidget with my visitors pass.

 

“Something I can help you with sweetheart?” She asks in a plastic voice.

 

My eyes slide shut.

 

“My name is Katniss Everdeen.” I say in a fevered whisper. “I need to speak to Dr. Aurelius please.”

 

XX.XX

 

“Katniss, what a surprise.” The doctor says to me. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “I thought you were in California with Haymitch.”

 

I yank on my braid.

 

“I-I was.” I say softly, my voice sounds so unsteady. Its taking everything in me not to turn and run out the heavy metal doors.

 

“Is there something I can do for you?”

 

I feel my face crumple. All of the false bravado I have built around myself crumbles at his words. My breath comes in sharp pants. Maybe this was a bad idea, but there is no backing out now.

 

“I-I need help.” I sob out.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

I stare at his face. His eyes are warm and kind. Its not what I expected.

 

“No,” I say, my voice flat and monotone. “No, I don't think I am.”A long strangled silence. Then all of the suffering and sorrow comes out and I can't stop it. The man catches me as I fall against his chest. He doesn't even complain when I get snot all over his shirt.

 

XX.XX

 

I flip the card over and over in my hands.

 

It is made from expensive card stock, fancy embossed lettering, a name of a stranger that I am suppose to see when I get back to town. Doctor Aurelius promises me he is kind, a good doctor. Someone who can help me.

 

I'm not too sure about that.

 

But I have to trust this is the right decision.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Finnick asks, his eyes bounce between the road in front of us and myself, heaped in the passenger seat. Johanna is following us in Effie's car. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window and I watch the world pass by me in a blur.

 

“Not really,” I sigh and he leaves me alone. I pull my knees up against my chest and wrap my arms around them. I think I fall asleep like that because when I come to we are outside of a brightly lit diner in the middle of nowhere.

 

Finnick feeds me bits of bread and coffee and eggs like I am child.

 

I stare at the ketchup bottle.

 

We eat in silence, the three of us.

 

We must be a sight. We are all rumpled, Johanna's hair sticks up in all directions. Finnick has deep purple bruises under his eyes. I've bitten my nails to bleeding stubs.

 

Johanna picks at her food, staring at the dark screen of her phone in front of her.

 

Waiting.

 

Then it buzzes to life and I swear we all jump in our skins.

 

For a moment we look between us.

 

“It's Delly.” Johanna says. Finnick and her share a look.

 

I swallow the bile creeping up my throat.

 

For a moment my stomach bottoms out. This is it.

 

For a long second I am sure he's dead.

 

“If it was serious she would of called, Kitty Kat.” Finnick says like he knows what direction my thoughts have gone.

 

I nod because I don't trust my voice not to waver.

 

Johanna reads the text in a monotone.

 

“He's awake.”

 

“Is he?” My voice cuts off, like I can't get enough air to keep speaking.

 

“He's asking for you.” She says. Her dark eyes meet mine.

 

I'm so fucking ashamed.

 

XX.XX

 

It's been dark for a while.

 

I am somewhere between awake and asleep, alive and dead.

 

Memories rush me.

 

I don't realize I am panicking until I try to open the passenger door. The cab light comes on.

 

“We're on the freeway!” Finnick exclaims, reaching over and yanking the door shut.

 

“Pull over!” I shout.

 

He does but it isn't fast enough.

 

“PULL THE FUCK OVER!” I scream and the second his tires hit the soft gravel on the side of the road I have my seatbelt off and the door thrown open.

 

I run.

 

But there is nowhere to escape the fear clawing up my throat.

 

Its everywhere.

 

Finnick chases after me.

 

I can't breathe.

 

I whirl around in a circle, trying to catch my bearings.

 

 

 

All around me is vast darkness.

 

I've run down a ravine and am standing in an open field. There is nothing for miles but wavering grass and power lines.

 

And me, trying to catch my breath. My chest heaves and my fingers dig into my palms. I try to bring myself back to the present. I try to just breathe.

 

My chin tilts up just as Finnick huffs up to my side.

 

“Katniss.” He says.

 

“Shut up and look.” I whisper. He follows my gaze upward.

 

The stars have no competition here. There are thousands of them, glittering down at me.

 

Its beautiful.

 

Finnicks hand comes up and rests on my shoulder. I turn and look at him.

 

“I'm so scared.” I say.

 

“Me too.” He whispers.

 

I fall against his chest and sob.

 

For a moment I wish for the hate back. It was easier to control. All I have now is my grief and who will I be when it finally ebbs.

 

Will Peeta still want her?

 

Finnick carries me back to the car.

 

We still have so many miles.

 

XX.XX

 

_“It's cold,” I say._

 

_“I'll be fine.” Peeta says, heading toward the door._

 

_“You're trailer doesn't have a roof.” I say sternly. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob._

 

_“I'll be okay, Katniss.” There is the soft tinkle of a laugh edging his voice. Like my concern is amusing._

 

_I can feel Haymitch watching us from the hallway, but I don't pay him any mind._

 

_“Wait here.” I say softly._

 

_He does as he's told._

 

_When I come back his feet are rooted in the same spot, hand still on the doorknob. I pull a purple wool hat from my pocket and he laughs as I shove it roughly on his head._

 

_His curls peek out from underneath._

 

_“Do I look okay?” He asks, his smile wide and lazy._

 

_I roll my eyes but I straighten it on his head._

 

_“You look okay, I guess.” I mumble, looking at my shoes. “A little dumb, I guess.” I add because I'm rude. “Like a golden retriever.”_

 

_He leans forward and our noses bump. I panic, thinking he's going to kiss me right here in the doorway, in front of my uncle._

 

_“Woof.” He whispers, breath fanning my lips. Have his eyelashes always been so long and golden. How do they not tangle when he blinks?_

 

_I must have stared too long._

 

_“Katniss?”_

 

_I snap back to myself._

 

_“Yeah?”_

 

_“Goodnight.” He whispers and for a moment his fingers caress my face._

 

_“Goodnight, Peeta.” I whisper back. I can't stop the smile on my face. And a part of myself hates the rest of me for it._

 

XX.XX

 

The hospital is lit up in the night.

 

I turn to Finnick as he clicks off his ignition.

 

The panic is back.

 

“It's okay Katniss.” He whispers.

 

“It's okay.” I parrot back to him.

 

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asks.

 

“No.” I say as I climb out of the car.

 

I turn back to him. He looks exhausted.

 

“Thank you.” I say in a watery voice.

 

“What are friends for?” He says.

 

I turn to the building in front of me. A fresh enemy for me to face.

 

I step forward.

 

Here goes nothing.

 

The lobby is brightly lit and after hours in a dark car I can only stand there and blink. Trying to regain my footing.

 

“Something I can help you with, honey?” A voice says.

 

A nurse with kind eyes blinks at me.

 

“Uh, yeah.” I say softly. “I'm looking for a p-patient... P-Peeta Mellark?”

 

She looks relieved when I finally stammer out his name. She leads me to a desk where she finds his room number and points me in the direction of the elevators.

 

Music plays softly as I watch the numbers light up on the wall.

 

Up I go.

 

The doors finally open and I almost let them shut but at the last moment I jut my arm out and then I am standing there staring at a painting on a wall.

 

One like the one in my mothers room all those months ago.

 

“Katniss?”

 

It's Delly.

 

I whirl on her.

 

“I-I,” I want to offer an explanation for running. For being so scared. I don't have one, so I just shift my weight and wait for her to yell at me.

 

“He's through here.” She says finally. Pointing to a door. The inside is dark.

 

“Is he?” My voice warbles.

 

“He'll want to see you.” She says with a tired smile. “But he's sleeping, so be quiet.”

 

I nod.

 

There is a curtain between us.

 

The only barrier left between us.

 

I reach out and pull it open.

 

He's a mess of tubes. Some one has washed the blood from him but it still sticks to the tape that holds all the tubes and monitors in place.

 

For a moment I can't breathe.

 

Then I see the rise and fall of his chest and something breaks inside of me.

 

I want to sob. I want to laugh. I am so fucking relieved.

 

I creep forward. Silent footsteps on the cold tile floors.

 

I fall into the chair next to him. My hands cover my face.

 

I don't know how long I stay that way, just breathing in the smell of hospital antiseptic for the second time in two days. But when I look up, he hasn't moved. He still sleeps soundly. His curls slicked with sweat. I reach out with careful fingers and run them over his fingers. They twitch on top of the blankets, but he doesn't stir.

 

Then something funny happens.

 

I start to sing.

 

I sing Paul Simon's Graceland. And when that song is over, I pick up another, then another. Every song I can think of. Every one reminds me of summer days with my father. Cold, wintery days watching my mother putt around the kitchen. Songs that remind me of my sister painting her toenails on the windowsill.

 

When I am too exhausted to go on my eyes slide shut.

 

“Are you real?” He asks, his voice rough.

 

My eyes pop open.

 

He is still as a stone. Eyes still shut.

 

“Are you real?” He asks again when I've been too quiet.

 

“I'm real.” I say.

 

He cracks a weak smile.

 

“I thought so.”

 

His eyes finally slide open.

 

There are those baby blues.

 

I didn't realize how much I missed them.

 

“You left.” Its a weak accusation. One I most definitely deserve.

 

“I know.” I say, my voice wavering with guilt.

 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He asks.

 

“I think so.” I say.

 

“Good.” He smiles, his lips cracked.

 

I laugh, because his voice is like a balm on all of my sore places.

 

Then we both fall quiet. A stilted silence.

 

My hand grips his and he squeezes weakly.

 

We fall asleep just like that.

 

Together.

 

Alone.

 

Mending.

 

I'm not sure who we will be when we wake, but the thought doesn't scare me nearly as much as it might have just twenty four hours ago.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hear the brokenness. I hear the hope. Every empty stare. Every lost day. And I know. We aren't defined by the worst thing that has ever happened to us.
> 
>  
> 
> We're here.
> 
>  
> 
> Alive.

_The Mississippi delta was shining like a national guitar._

 

_I am following the river down the highway, through the cradle of the civil war._

 

_I'm going to Graceland, Graceland._

 

_Memphis Tennessee_

 

_I'm going to Graceland._

 

_Poor boys and pilgrims and families, we are going to Graceland._

 

_My traveling companion is nine years old. The child of my first marriage._

 

_But I have reason to believe we both will be received, in Graceland._

 

_She comes back to tell me she's gone._

 

_As if I didn't know that._

 

_As if I didn't know my own bed._

 

_As if I never noticed, the way she brushed her hair from her forehead._

 

_She says, losing love is like a window to your heart._

 

_Every body sees your blown apart._

 

_Every body sees the wind blow._

 

 

 

Peeta smiles.

 

My voice trails off.

 

My hands are clammy but I don't dare try to break us apart. Peeta has kept a firm hold on me since last night, refusing to let me go.

 

Just like always.

 

We slept in fits all night. He'd snap awake and turn to look at me with eyes wide and terrified. I'd brush the damp curls from his head and coo soothing nonsense at him until his eyes drooped shut and his breathing evened out.

 

Sometime during the early dawn he asked me to sing to him.

 

I haven't stopped since.

 

Only now does my voice finally die out.

 

“You're so beautiful.” He says. I thought he was asleep.

 

Burning eyes, chapped lips, stiff neck, stale breath.

 

I feel real pretty.

 

I bite my lip, my lip ring clanks against my teeth.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I whisper, my eyes flitting upward to meet his.

 

He searches my eyes. I don't know what he's looking for.

 

“No,” His voice sounds resolute.

 

He doesn't trust me.

 

My eyes flit away from him again.

 

He squeezes my fingers, bringing me back to him.

 

“Not yet.”

 

I nod.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

 

I chew on his words.

 

“You already know what happened.” I say gently.

 

“But I'd rather hear it from you.” He says.

 

So I tell him.

 

In fevered words and sentences broken with long silences and peppered with sobs I tell him about my sister. So sweet in life, now made tragic by death. I tell him everything from her favorite color, to what it was like watching her dance. I tell him about her cat and finally, about the day I lost her.

 

_In the days after my sister dies I hear bits and pieces from the neighbors, the papers, on the television. Its everywhere, they have my sisters pictures printed everywhere. I cared little about what happened at first, only caring about the outcome, my sister was dead and nothing else mattered._

  
  


_Old Snow was being evicted from the Hambry. Everyone was. The Sheriff came with his stiff legged deputies and drug people from their homes. The owner wants to rebuild, turn it into overpriced condo's._

  
  


_But first he had to rid it of its vermin._

  
  


_A elderly woman clutches her cat and watches mutely, tears streaming down her face._

  
  


_My sister saw her that morning, and ignored Snow's raging nearby._

  
  


_My sister and her kindness has to see the woman, check on her, pet the cat._

  
  


_She crossed that street and paid for it with her life._

  
  


_He snatched her up so quick no one had time to stop it. He petted her hair, called her his little princess._

  
  


_It was over fast._

  
  


_Things like these always are._

  
  


_My sister was is shield as he pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants and raved at the unfairness of it all. The rich get richer, the poor are thrown from their homes. Its a truth that is hard to swallow for the rich women watching, in their overpriced coats and gaudy rings, there lipstick rimmed mouths formed o's of horror as he holds the gun to my sisters head._

  
  


_Her tiny hands were no match for him as she tries to fight him off._

  
  


_She cries._

  
  


_She pleads and it doesn't do a lick of good._

  
  


_He drags her across the street. She starts to fight him, elbowing him in his bony ribs. The police demands he let her go, every gun trained on him as he makes his way slowly across the street._

  
  


_She makes it four steps before the bullet rips through her spinal cord. It happens in slow motion in my head. She staggers for a moment before she falls and all hell breaks loose. A hail of gun smoke and its over, just a few seconds really._

  
  


_Snow lies dead._

  
  


_My sister writhes in pain._

  
  


_I make it just a few seconds too late._

 

When I finally am empty of words I look up at him, dreading the sympathy. I feel pathetic and hollow. He squeezes my fingers.

 

“I'm sorry that happened to you.” He says.

 

“It's not your fault.”

 

“It's not yours either.” He says firmly. “You know that right?”

 

His voice sounds far away, like he's in a tin can.

 

Like the tin can telephone on a string Gale and I strung between our houses when we were kids.

 

My blood roars in my ears.

 

“I know.”

 

XX.XX

 

I wait till he's sleeping.

 

Otherwise I wouldn't have the strength to pry our hands apart.

 

But finally I do.

 

XX.XX

 

“I need to speak to Doctor Beetee Latier.” I say, false bravado keeps my spine ram rod straight. Keeps the trembling out of my voice. Keeps my feet firmly planted to the cold, sterile tiles.

 

I make the appointment while Haymitch watches me carefully. What he's looking for I don't know.

 

But when I turn around he smiles, its cool and sardonic.

 

“You sure about this kid?”

 

I nod but the truth is I'm not.

 

I don't think I've been more scared in my life.

 

And that's saying something.

 

XX.XX

 

_three weeks later._

 

It hasn't been a good day.

 

I sit on the cool tiles with my head pressed against door.

 

It keeps me awake but its better than the plastic mattress that crinkles every time I move.

 

I hate this room.

 

There aren't any windows. Its disorientating, I only know its night because they locked me in here for sleep. Giving me pills to help knock me out, no matter how much I complain they just lock me into nightmares I can't escape from. Like rooms with no doors.

 

I see Peeta covered in blood.

 

I see Finnick pacing.

 

I see myself in a mirror.

 

But it feels like someone else looking back at me.

 

I think I am crying.

 

Its been three weeks since I came here. Voluntarily committed.

 

I signed the sheet right under Haymitch.

 

I brought myself here, to the prison.

 

“Katniss?” A voice.

 

“Katniss?”

 

My head bangs against the wall.

 

“Bed check.”

 

The door opens and hits me. I cringe away.

 

“Sweetheart, you need to get back into bed.” I shake my head vehemently.

 

“Come on.” The woman says gently. She picks me up and half carries me back to the mattress. I fall against it.

 

Her name tag says her name is Lavinia.

 

“Are you alright honey?” Her dark red hair is pulled into a loose ponytail. Her scrubs are a dark blue and void of personality but her socks have little strawberries all over them. For some reason this makes me smile, just a little.

 

When I don't answer her she goes to the tiny bathroom adjoining my room. She comes back with a warm washcloth and hands it to me.

 

When the tears are scrubbed from my face I feel a bit better.

 

I curl up on the bed.

 

She doesn't say anything, but sits in at the edge of the bed.

 

“I miss Peeta.” I say, plaintive, like a small child.

 

“Try to get some sleep.” She says, standing up and hovering over me.

 

“Can I see him?” I ask, even though I know I can't.

 

She bites her lip and I curl away from her. Feeling betrayed by a stranger. I know it isn't her fault but she has the keys to all the doors. And my nights have been filled with horrible things.

 

I hear the door click shut behind her.

 

They told me this would be hard.

 

Part of me never realized how hard. Reliving all the horror. The bloodstains.

 

I understand why my mother slipped away.

 

Sometimes its easier to pretend not to be than to face it.

 

We are more alike than I ever imagined.

 

XX.XX

 

An hour ticks by. Or at least I think its been an hour. Time is hard to tell here in this cold room. There aren't any clocks on the wall, no windows. But I count seconds in harsh, quick gasps.

 

_Tick, tock._

 

“Katniss?”

 

Lavinia is back, knocking on my door.

 

She pushes the door open. “I have a visitor here to see you.” Visiting hours were over hours and hours ago. She pulls the door open wider.

 

Peeta.

 

He's dressed in a paper gown, but he no longer needs all the monitors. Only a saline drip that hangs from a pole you can wheel around.

 

“Hey.” Peeta says.

 

“Hi,” I say timidly. Feeling suddenly ashamed of my ratty sweat pants that hang off my sharp hipbones and uniform white shirt they give to everyone here. When you're crazy they don't want you to stand out. I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear and shift my weight uneasily from foot to foot.

 

 

“I'll be back when my coffee break is over in ten minutes, then its back to bed for both of you.” She gives me a pointed look, but then she smiles.

 

She's breaking the rules for me.

 

I wait until she's gone before I open my mouth to speak.

 

Peeta beats me to the punch.

 

“So this is cozy.” He says, appraising my room.

 

I snort-laugh.

 

I fall to the ground, curling my legs under me and look up at Peeta.

 

It takes some doing with the healing wounds and all but he manages to sit across from me. I can't think of anything to say. I want to tell him about group therapy. The girls I've met there. The meds that are suppose to help but just numb me. Instead I don't say anything.

 

 

“We'll get better.” He says finally.

 

I press myself against him, tilt my head until it rests on his shoulder. He smiles as I peek up at him through the fluid wall of my hair.

 

“When?” I ask, my voice cracking.

 

His eyes are like water.

 

“I don't know.” He says finally. “But we have to.”

 

I press my nose against his skin. He smells like antiseptic, like hospital soap, like sickness, but deep underneath that there is still that scent that is so unmistakably his.

 

Its like coming home.

 

“Will you sing to me?” I ask.

 

He is quiet for so long I think my request is denied.

 

But then he does.

 

And its awful. He can't hold a tune with a bucket and his voice is like sandpaper.

 

Abba. I snort-laugh again. He smiles like this was his plan all along.

 

I feel heat rising to my cheeks. His voice dies out and our hands are clasped tightly together. And I know. We'll be okay.

 

“Hey Peeta?” I whisper, my breath fanning his neck. I watch the goosebumps prickle along his skin.

 

“Yeah?” He whispers.

 

“Thanks for staying with me.”

 

“Always.”

 

 

XX.XX

 

There is a living area right across from the nurses station. It has a couch in an ugly pattern with frayed fabric and a television that is on at all hours of the day. It plays the gameshow network, except when Lavinia is on lunch, then she turns it to the x-files and sometimes she'll let me watch with her. When the meds don't make me too sleepy, I actually enjoy it.

 

That's what I am doing when Peeta comes in. I'm sitting on the couch with my feet curled up underneath me, head lolling against the rough fabric as I try to follow along with the convoluted plot.

 

He's in a bathrobe and slippers and his curls are matted to the back of his head.

 

“Hey,” He whispers.

 

My eyelids feel heavy but I lift them to look at him.

 

“Hey,” I say back. He sits next to me. The couch dips beneath his weight. I pull my knees to my chest to give him enough room.

 

“How was your day?” He asks. I sigh and shrug.

 

“I spent the day gluing macaroni to a paper plate.”

 

“Ah, arts and crafts day.” He says with a hint of humor in his voice.

 

“How about you?”

 

“Physical therapy.” He says. “Then actual therapy.”

 

For awhile we sit in silence watching the television. His arm rests above me on the couch. Somehow I end up tucked against him, my head pressed against his chest, listening to the steady lub-dub of his heart. I marvel at the miracle, somehow, its still steadfast and strong.

 

When he begins to speak I jolt upward.

 

“I was watching you sleep.” He says softly.

 

“When?”

 

“That day.” He whispers. “I was suppose to meet with Cato, but you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you.”

 

Every muscle inside of me is tense as I watch him drop his head into his hands. His fingers twine into his hair and pull. I reach up and touch his fingers. When he looks up at me his eyes are red rimmed but dry. I pull his hand into my lap and lace his fingers between mine and then I go still, waiting.

 

“I thought that if I had the money I could get you out of here.” He says softly. “I could take you somewhere and we could be different.”

 

“Peeta-”

 

“But when I got there, I knew I couldn't do it. If I did I'd be just like everyone says I am. I'd be the part of me my mother hates.”

 

His words are punctuated by long, stilted silences where are ragged breathing is the only noise in the room. “That person doesn't deserve you.” He says quietly.

 

“It's not about deserving.” I say with a shake of my head. “And money is just paper.”

 

“I know but-” His voice dies.

 

“Peeta-”

 

“Cato was strung out of his mind.” His fingers are squeezing mine so tightly they have turned a berry red. I don't dare let him go. “I thought I could talk to him like used to, but he was so far gone. I told him that I changed my mind, I didn't want to be a part of it anymore.”

 

He looks away from me. Blood blooming under the skin of his cheeks. The heat of shame. So I focus on pulling the tangles from his hair, running my fingers through the soft down of his curls.

 

“Marvel was there too.” He says. “When Cato pulled the gun things went so fast. Marvel was telling him to put it away, Cato said the safety was on, went to show Marvel and it just-” His voice cracks. “Went off.”

 

Something drips off my chin. Tears. I'm crying. I take a heaving breath to calm myself. He doesn't need me to be a sobbing mess. He needs me to be strong. I can be strong, right?

 

“It was an accident.”

 

“I keep trying to find the moment it all went wrong... but all I can see is you sleeping in my bed, you felt so far away.”

 

“I was there.” I say.

 

“Do you love me?” He says suddenly. He turns to look at me. His eyes are deep pools of pain.

 

I look at him mutely, my mouth flopping open and shut.

 

I see him.

 

The insecurity. The strength. Steady arms that can keep nightmares at bay. Underneath the layers of self doubt there is the boy, looking at me in the early morning sunshine. The girl with the hate and fear and emptiness that ate away at her until she was nothing. The boy with all the patience in the world. The boy that let the storm rage against him.

 

The one that waited for me work it all out.

 

I say the only thing that comes to my mind.

 

“Of course.”

 

And he opens his mouth to speak and I can't have that because whatever happened is in the past and I am done living in the ruins.

 

We need light.

 

And only Peeta can give me that.

 

So I kiss him.

 

Its all lips and teeth and our noses bump together. We crash together like waves against the rocks. His arms wind around me and pull me close, but close isn't close enough. Fire ignites in my veins and pools in the lining of my stomach.

 

Is this real?

 

Peeta breaks us apart.

 

Because I am not strong enough.

 

His hands come up to my cheeks and he holds my face still, searching my eyes.

 

“Will you stay with me?” He asks.

 

I hear the brokenness. I hear the hope. Every empty stare. Every lost day. And I know. We aren't defined by the worst thing that has ever happened to us.

 

We're here.

 

Alive.

 

“Always.” I whisper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit. "Graceland." by Paul Simon.
> 
> While I don't mention the song that Peeta is singing. Its Mama Mia by Abba. (He has terrible taste in music)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was real.
> 
>  
> 
> Real.
> 
>  
> 
> Real, damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is coming to a close only two more chapters! I really need to thank Shannon17 for her endless amounts of support with this story. I absolutely never would have finished it without her. Next I really need to thank all of you readers! Your support of this story has meant the world to me. I cherish every comment, kudo and follow. I always look forward to hearing what you guys think, even if I don't always respond. I also see all of you quiet lurkers and I appreciate you guys as well! 
> 
> I guess I'll shut up now. Enjoy my friends!

_This night is remarkably the same as the one before it. The darkness swallows everything, even my rasping screams as I wake from the third nightmare of the night and stare up at my ceiling chest heaving, I decide that I am not getting any sleep tonight and sit up. All my nights bleed together into a dark lump of time sitting largely unused. Uncle Haymitch suggested therapy to help me navigate this new sisterless world, but as the door shut behind him for the last time, the light in my mothers eyes dulled over and she hasn't returned enough to do the simplest of tasks, let alone forcing me to talk to some stranger about the brutality I witness only two weeks ago._

 

_I glance over at my sisters side of the room, cold, empty and void of the soft sounds of her breathing. The silence, a lance in my chest. Suddenly its like I'm being suffocated by every memory I have and I roll over onto my side and try to heave in any air that I can._

 

_That's when I hear it._

 

 

_The quiet sobs of my mother. At this point I am not sure if she knows why she is crying anymore. If she knows her youngest daughter is dead._

 

_But I know and I can feel her absence like a phantom limb._

 

_When I finally catch my breath I stand on legs like jelly and shove on the first clothes I can find, dark jeans and t-shirt my father's old leather jacket. I look like I am off to fight a battle._

 

_Maybe I am._

 

_I don't know what pulls me down the stairs, I only know I need to get the fuck out of this house._

 

_I slam the door behind me and jog down the sidewalk. I pass Gale's house, his light is on, I could easily shimmy my way up the tree and tap on his window pane. I don't. Maybe it was always going to end up like this dead sister or not. Maybe this dark chasm would have opened no matter what. All I know is looking at him, whole and breathing is as painful as every time I look into the mirror and see myself, alive and remember my sister died for nothing. I did nothing._

 

_I've ended up on a sidewalk in town, staring at the darkened inside of a bar. I can smell the rank of cigarettes and stale beer from inside, the laughter, the sounds of glass being smashed and pool balls being struck._

 

_I know objectively that my feet are propelling me forward but I don't really feel it. I slip through the bodies and order a beer, the first brand that pops into my head. I am handed a beer with no question of my age and I stand at the edge of the crowd, drinking down the foam and hops and watching the people with eyes blank._

 

_“Hey, you should smile sweetness.” A man to my right says. I turn slowly and narrow my eyes at him, he is maybe early twenties, dark hair, nice eyes but he looks remarkably generic. I try to maneuver my face into a smile. It feels tight and plastic._

_“You should say something funny.” My words are short and clipped, I turn my back on him and he gets the hint, wandering off._

 

_One beer turns into four, then six and the world is soft around the edges now. The crowd isn't as loud, everything feels far away and warm, like I have swallowed too much cough medicine._

 

_The man is back and he buys me a shot of something fruity._

 

_I slam it back and he buys me another._

 

_With each drink I feel myself slipping. Down, down, down. When I hit the ground who will I be?_

 

_My head lolls against a brick wall. I slide to the ground, falling headlong into a pile of garbage bags that smell like coffee grounds. I drag myself back up, the man and I are both laughing. Everything is funny when your wasted._

 

_When did I end up outside in the alley?_

 

_The man says something about how I smell like daisies. I feel my lips tug upward._

 

_“Kinda like garbage.” I slur out._

 

_“Katniss, what are you doing?” My heart goes still. The whole world goes completely quiet._

 

_It can't be._

 

_My whole body stiffens._

 

_Her voice can not be real._

 

_My eyes screw shut._

 

_“Katniss?”_

 

_The man is kissing me, his tongue tastes like pineapple juice and vodka and his rough, calloused hands are gripping my hips, pulling me impossibly close to him._

 

_“Katniss, move.”_

 

_I shove the man away from me. That's when I see her. The ghost. The girl._

 

_Rosy cheeked she regards me with those wide eyes, watching as I stumble closer to her._

 

_“Honey.” The man says, trying to corral me back against the wall, his fingers tugging on my pants. My hand reaches out to touch her. She turns to smoke just as I grasp her. I think I've fallen to the ground, my knees scrape the pavement._

 

_“Prim? Prim?” My voice comes out frantic as my fingers search the darkness in front of me._

 

_“Primrose?” I wail._

 

_The man curses, calls me crazy and stumbles off to find another girl._

 

_I feel my face contort with the pain of it._

 

_I saw her._

 

_I did._

 

_She was real._

 

_Real._

 

_Real, damn it._

 

 

I thought I must look so different. The mirror in the hallway tells a different story. My face is the same, olive skin smooth and tight against my cheekbones. Eyes too large and dark for my face and my nose slightly upturned at the end. I'm still so small I look like I am playing dress up in my leather jacket that swallows me.

 

I am still the same.

 

My fingers reach up and brush the bangs out of my face. I cut my hair as soon as I left the hospital, two weeks ago. Effie cut it herself with scissors in the kitchen and with all of the weight off my neck I felt so much lighter. It barely brushes my ears, I think my mother would call it a pixie cut.

 

“Well, what do you think?” Effie had asked, running her fingers over the top of my head and in my giddiness I had done something actually crazy.

 

I hugged her.

 

A door slams somewhere far away and I startle out of my memories.

 

I turn away from the mirror.

 

“Katniss!” Effie calls. “Mr. Odair is here!”

 

I can hear Finnick and Effie talking from where I stand at the top of the stairs.

 

“When are you going to come to your senses and run away with me, Mrs Abernathy?”

 

I hear Effie's pensive sigh and stifle a laugh as I trudge down the stairs. I see Finnicks eyes light up when he sees me. I feel suddenly shy. I haven't seen anyone since being released from the hospital and my hands brace against my stomach defensively. Pausing halfway down the stairs, I am suddenly longing for the safety of my room.

 

“Can Katniss Come out and play?” He whispers.

 

I close the distance on us and fling myself into his arms, breathing in the scent of salt and sea.

 

“Thank you Finnick.” I whisper against his neck. “For Everything.”

 

“What are friends for, huh?”

 

XX.XX

 

 

Finnick drives so fast.

 

A song plays too loud on the radio.

 

San Francisco by The Mowgli's

 

I love this song.

 

I let my head fall out the open window and relish the feeling of the wind against my face. I can hear Johanna bickering with Finnick from the backseat. I'm not listening I am too busy watching the lights blur together beyond our car.

 

We drive out and down to the bar where Peeta waits. I guess his brother closed it down just for us tonight, because we're all celebrating.

 

Peeta.

 

Still alive.

 

XX.XX

 

“Katniss better watch out.” Finnick says, mouth full of pizza. “Now you have a cool scar and all the pretty girls are gonna wanna touch it.” He waggles his eyebrows in my direction and I glare at him.

 

“Come on,” Johanna smirks. “Show us your cool scar Peeta.”

 

Reluctantly, Peeta lifts his shirt, reveling the thin line of pink that traces its way up the planes of his stomach. My fingers reach out and brush the shiny new skin. Peeta cringes back with a small smile and I feel something hot drip through me and land in my stomach.

 

“Sorry, it tickles.” He says with a crooked smiling, lowering his shirt.

 

I flush hotly and look away from him.

 

“It's a pretty cool scar.” I mumble as his fingers reach out and twine themselves with mine.

 

What is this inside of me? It's warm and pulses in rhythm with my heart. I feel it tingling in my blood, dancing in the marrow of my bones and it starts where Peeta's hand meets mine. It feels new and at the same time as old as the universe itself.

 

I feel myself scoot toward him slowly, my body inching closer to his where we sit on the floor leaned against the wall by the jukebox. And when I am sure everyone has there attention averted I bravely tuck my head against his shoulder and smile against his neck.

 

“Peeta.” I whisper.

 

“Yeah?” His voice is shaking.

 

“I'm glad you didn't die.”

 

I can feel his smile.

 

“Thanks, I'm glad you didn't die either.”

 

 

XX.XX

 

We end up on the beach.

 

Drunk on the sound of the surf and our own laughter as I sink into him. All I can smell is the sea and vanilla and cloves as my lips press against his firmly and we stumble, the frigid surf soaking the hem of our jeans.

 

“I have something I want to show you.” Peeta says, arm winding around my waist, solid and heavy and so warm. My hand presses against his chest. His heart is beating steadily.

 

 

“Okay.” I say. Because I am done keeping myself from simple pleasures, and Peeta is so steady. And there is no use denying it anymore. I love him.

 

XX.XX

 

Its a church.

 

Or it used to be a church. Its run down and smells musty and I am in love with it from the first moment I step out of the truck. It over looks the whole town, I can see the strip malls and the signs from the fast food restaurants near the freeway, they glitter. Behind us is the ocean, vast and dark and bleeding against the sand, but I am too busy looking down on the little town that beyond any reasonable explanation has become a home to me.

 

“Katniss,” I turn to look at Peeta whose watching me carefully, like he is waiting for me to run like I always do.

 

I turn and walk back to him, my boots crunching the gravel.

 

When I am standing in front of him I brave a look up into his cotton candy eyes. I swallow all of the hurt, the nights I was sure would never end, the fears and doubt. A cavalcade of memories wash over me. My sister dancing on a porch, then blood pooling warm and sticky underneath her. A nameless boy ontop of me in the back of a car. Gale running ahead of me, his hand warm in mine. Songs, so many songs. My mother and sister dancing in the kitchen, my father singing to my mother late at night, headphone pressed to my ears, drowning out my mothers silence. 

 

_Leave your stepping stones behind something calls for you._

_Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you._

_The vagabond  who is rapping at your door._

_Standing in the clothes that you once wore._

_Strike another match, girl._

_Go start Anew._

_Its all over now, Baby blue._

 

Then finally I am standing on a street corner in San Francisco as Peeta growled a song low in my ear. The crowd pulsing around us as I melt against him, feeling like I could become one with the stars.

 

“Where are we?” I mumble.

 

“Graceland.” He whispers.

 

I stand up on my tip toes and press a kiss to the seam of his lips. And somehow this one feels different from all the other kisses we've shared.

 

It has the underlying promise of more to come.

 

XX.XX

 

 

We've been sitting for hours on the wet grass, the church behind us. We watch color slowly bleed into the sky and I've been up for hours and my eyes burn but I don't want to go home yet because I am sitting next to Peeta, and he is warm and safe and I almost lost him. Every moment is absolutely precious to me.

 

I set my head gently on his shoulder and his hand comes up to brush the hair out of my eyes.

 

“You look exhausted, maybe its time to get you home.” He says. I let my eyes slide shut.

 

“Can we stay just a little longer?” I ask.

 

He chuckles, I can feel it inside of me.

 

“Yeah, okay.” He kisses my temple.

 

XX.XX

 

Peeta is shaking me.

 

“Hey,” I think I drooled on his shoulder. I wipe my chin and lift my heavy eye lids. “Hey, you fell asleep. Come on, I'll take you home.” He says gently, dragging me up by my hand.

 

No nightmares. It's the only thing I can think as he leads me to his truck. I didn't see any blood, no little girls that can't be saved. Just blissful darkness for the first time in months.

 

I whisper his name as I drag myself to a stop. He still has a firm hold on my hand.

 

“What's up?” He asks, looking at me with those eyes.

 

Its just like another day, so long ago in my memory now. As he stood watching me in a crowd. Just like then I want to cower away from his eyes, all the kindnesses that reside there. I'm still certain I don't deserve it.

 

But I'll thank my stars everyday that he noticed me.

 

I rush forward and kiss him, and its like coming home.

 

I think we could stay here like this forever.

 

Then a elderly woman walking her dog raps her cane against a railing and loudly exclaims that this is a house of God.

 

We reluctantly part, Peeta runs his hand through his hair and laughs. I laugh too, its breathless and wild.

 

This must be a house of God, because a miracle has just happened.

 

XX.XX

 

 

 

_Its been a month since my sister died._

 

_Gale tries to speak to me but I shut him out completely. I slam the door in his face, I don't answer the phone when he calls. Soon he gets the hint and stops calling, stops dropping by. I slowly stop showing up to school. I think I might associate him forever with snowflakes and blood and my sisters ragged cries._

 

_I encase myself in the house because in just the right light I see Prim. At first its just glimpses, her braid as she runs around a corner, a silhouette behind the curtain. A shape in the darkness in the first few moments after waking up._

 

_I grow so thin I am afraid I will wake up one day to have disappeared completely._

 

_Slowly my sister comes back to me in pieces and I know she isn't real but every time I see her its like a healing balm on me. A moment of plastic comfort that I will except graciously because I can't live with the alternative._

 

_But living among the dead is lonely and sometimes I walk back to the dive bar where I first saw my sister. I let men buy me drinks and I fake smiles in there direction and I talk to them but at the end of the night I always stumble home alone._

 

_Until the night I see my sister standing in the street swallowed by the light from a passing car and she screams my name and it sounds just like it did that day and I feel something inside of me turns black and falls away._

 

_I drink so much I can't stand up and I let a man finger fuck me in the back of his truck._

 

_I come home and crawl into the shower and my eyes burn with unshed tears, I stare up at the water stained ceiling. The water roars in my ears and its loud but better than listening to my mother crying._

 

_I try to muster up any feelings of remorse for what I let the man do but I don't._

 

_I find I don't feel much of anything._

 

_XX.XX_

 

Where do I go from here?

 

I twist the necklace around my fingers, the one with my fathers wedding ring. Would he like who I have become? Probably not but I remind myself of what my therapists said about not holding myself to the opinion of the dead.

 

They're dead.

 

I don't owe them anything anymore.

 

I let the necklace go and the cool metal hits my flesh just as the phone rings distantly, downstairs.

 

I look out the window to the street below, rain patters against the roof, a soothing lullaby.

 

“Katniss!” Haymitch calls.

 

“What?”

 

“They found Cato.” He calls.

 

I feel heat gathering in the pit of my stomach. I pull a cranberry colored shirt over my head and shove my feet into my boots, leaving them unlaced as I run down the stairs taking them two at a time.

 

I don't bother saying anything to Haymitch as I grab up the car keys and slam the door behind me.

 

I find Peeta standing in the field behind his trailer. His hair is dampened by the rain, dark gold and weighted down his neck.

 

I stand behind him and he smiles humorlessly, but he doesn't turn to me.

 

“Peeta?”

 

“He was good once.” He whispers.

 

“I know.”

 

“Even though he did this horrible thing, I-” His voice cuts off as he sighs. He's fighting off tears I can hear them in his voice. “I still love him, you know?”

 

“Yeah, I know.” I say weakly, putting my hand on his shoulder. I'm no good at this, not like Peeta. But he turns to look at me, his hands reaching out and cupping my face between his palms. “He's gone.” I whisper, my eyes searching his for any lie. “Its over now.” That isn't true, we still have the trial, we still have to relive this whole ordeal in front of crowds of people but for now, we can rest knowing that Cato sits in jail.

 

Peeta kisses me.

 

His hands move down my neck and cup my waist. I feel the low fire in my belly and I grip his shirt tightly, pulling him closer.

 

And close just isn't close enough.

 

I don't protest when he drags me inside and we strip off our wet clothes and look at each other for the first time. And we map out our scars and insecurities with our lips and fingers and we trace each others freckles like constellations and Peeta makes me fall apart, first with his fingers then with his mouth and after I lay there with his head heavy on my chest and I listen to the even breathing of his sleep.

 

I've been fucked before.

 

It never felt like a big deal, just means to an end.

 

I've never felt this hollow fluttering in my stomach like I've swallowed a swarm of bees. I've never felt like I've wanted more.

 

I run my fingers through Peeta's hair, damp and sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He snores a little and it makes me smile. A real smile.

 

I bury my head against his pillow and let sleep drag me under.

 

XX.XX

 

_I dream a dream._

 

_We are on a boat._

 

_My sister and I._

 

_Underneath an endless blue sky._

 

_She sings me a song._

 

_One I have sung to her a thousand times. Nights when she was sick or starving. Mornings when she was melancholy. Its the epitome of comfort. It fills every hollow spot inside of me. I know every note because I sang it on street corners for pennies and scraps while bundled against the cold._

 

 

 _I've got sunshine on a cloudy day_  
When it's cold outside I've got the month of May  
Well I guess you'd say  
What can make me feel this way?

 

_She expects me to pick up the song. I don't. I just take up her hand as we sit in silence. It feels like its been forever that we sit like this, and maybe it is. There are no words said between us. I know its a dream but the comfort is palatable and I don't want to wake up just yet._

 

_“I love you Prim,” I whisper, swallowing down the lump in my throat. I look over at her but she 's gone. Some one else has taken her place, Peeta, his voice is a growl in my ear as he sings the lyrics. My eyes slide shut._

 

_I feel safe._

 

_I never thought I would ever feel this way again._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits.
> 
> San Francisco by the Mowgli's  
> My girl by The Temptations  
> Its all over now, baby blue by Bob Dylan


End file.
